


Inseparable

by RyanRossIsAPrincess



Category: Bandom
Genre: Illegal Activities, Multi, Murder, Recreational Drug Use, They're all part of a gang AU, violence in general
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-02-04 12:07:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 72,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1778506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyanRossIsAPrincess/pseuds/RyanRossIsAPrincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kellin Quinn has never really truly had someone he could rely on.<br/>Frank Iero has felt the same way his whole life.<br/>When Kellin's mother starts dating Frank's father, upon meeting,  Kellin and Frank almost immediately become inseparable. They rely on each other so heavily for the support they've never really gotten.<br/>And on the other side of the tracks......<br/>There are only two things in this world that Gerard Way and Vic Fuentes have in common: One, a little brother named Mikey, and two, a membership in the same gang. Gerard doesn't really talk, and Vic understands that, sticking up for him occasionally when someone begins to pick on him. Other than that, it's just  a nod of acknowledgement and nothing more........<br/>Until both Vic and Gerard find themselves infatuated with two boys joined at the hip.<br/>In which case they make an agreement to help each other out.</p><p>But doing this is putting everything as they know it on the line..........<br/>And they're willing to risk it.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>*HEY. HEY YOU. I RE-UPLOADED THIS ENTIRE THING. ALL OF IT. IF YOU'VE READ IT BEFORE, YOU SHOULD PROBABLY READ IT AGAIN, AS THINGS HAVE BEEN CHANGED.*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY SO  
> This is my first work on this website. Brace yourself, because I have no fucking clue what I'm doing. Right now, it's basically 'press this button and see what it does'.  
> This is a DOUBLE PAIRING FIC. No, it does not mean a threesome/foursome/orgy. It means that there are two separate pairings, but both are equally focused on and relevant in the same story.  
> I don't fucking know, this is hard to explain. Just go with it. Trust me.

"Kellin?"

_No._

"Kellin? Honey, I need you to come downstairs."

_No._

"Kellin? My new boyfriend and his son are here, sweetie, you need to get up and come meet them."

_Great. Just fuckin' peachy._

Kellin Quinn pulls his face off of his pillow and kicks the blanket off of him. He lets out a massive groan before swinging his legs over the side of his bed, rubbing his face with his hands.

For the third time this month, Kellin's mom has a new boyfriend.  For the third time this month, Kellin has to get out of bed to meet him. For the first time that month, possibly Kellin won't be alone in the torture that is meeting one of these assholes.

He doubts it greatly. In the past his mother had dated another guy with a son, and thank Jesus they broke up because that kid was a royal douchewad and Kellin seriously didn't want to have to endure another moment with that kid.

Kellin runs a hand through his hair and heaves another sigh. He looks around his room for a second, trying to locate a pair of pants. He stands up and kicks his dirty clothes around the room until he finds a pair of black skinny jeans that he deems semi-satisfactory and pulls them on. He runs a hand through his hair again, messing it up further and leaves his room, stumbling gracelessly down the staircase, attempting to rub the sleep out of his eyes.

The scene in front of him is typical: his mother is dressed to the nines, wearing the fanciest dress and jewelry combination she owns, hanging off the beefy arm of the man Kellin presumes is her new boyfriend.

He isn't  _that_  bad looking, but he definitely isn't something normal people would consider attractive either. 

"So mom," Kellin asks, looking to press every button he can. "How much money does this guy's job pay? Must be a lot, considering he falls beneath your normal standards."

His mother's mouth falls open in shock, and the man tightens his grip around her waist. 

"Funny," a voice pipes up from behind the couple, "That's what I said about your mom when I first heard about all this." 

Kellin's mother and the man turn, revealing a boy about Kellin's age, slightly shorter, with short black hair and green eyes, and a piercing on both his nose and lip. 

Kellin cracks a grin as he descends the rest of the staircase. "So you must be my mom's new boy-toy's extra baggage, huh?"

"Touché," The boy says with a grin as he extends his hand. Kellin grins right back at him and shakes his hand.

"Frank,” the boy says.

"Kellin."

"Aw, isn't that sweet? Look honey, they're already getting along!" Kellin's mom says excitedly. 

"It's more like a mutual agreement we won't kill each other. No promises about vomiting at the sight of you two though," Frank mutters. Kellin laughs, and Frank's father shoots them both a death glare, a chilled, reprimanding silence settling across the room, leaving Frank snickering under his father’s glare and Kellin’s mother shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. 

In the kitchen, the oven beeps, saving the room from the uncomfortable silence that no doubt would have lasted. "Lasagna's ready!" Kellin's mother says as she walks out of the room, her high heels click-clacking on the wooden floor. Frank's father walks quickly after her, probably oggling her ass in that dress. 

Kellin and Frank just stand together for a minute in silence, a question bouncing around in Kellin’s mind. He doesn’t really want to ask, but he feels like he  _needs_  to know

."Does your dad jump from relationship to relationship often?" Kellin asks sheepishly, cheeks a little on the pinker side and eyes to the floor.

Frank nods. "New girl every other week." 

Kellin shuffles his feet. "My mom's like that too, but with guys. So you're alone a lot too?"

"Yeah. I get up for school on my own, eat on my own, pay for all the bills on my own...... it's like I don't even have a parent half of the time," Frank says, running a hand though his hair. “And my mom is long gone. Out of the picture completely. I haven’t talked to her in....years.”

"I'm the same way. I’ve never met my biological father," Kellin says, looking up at Frank, who he sees has cracked a small grin. 

"Well hey, you're not half bad, so maybe the next time you find yourself a little too alone I can come over and we can play video games or something," Frank says. He hopes Kellin will agree, because fuck, they’re living the same forever alone lifestyle and if there’s a way out of it Frank is on the fast track.

"Yeah, that'd be great," Kellin grins, elated to see his smile returned by Frank. 

"Boys? Come on, the food is going to get cold!" Kellin's mother calls. The two boys share one last hopeful grin and begin their trek to the kitchen, each silently overjoyed at the possibility of a permanent companion for the first time in their lives.

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The dinner, in short, was hell. Sure, the food was good, but the goo-goo eyes shared between Frank and Kellin's parents were disgusting, as well as the questions about the boys' school and friends and whether or not they had a girlfriend et cetera et cetera.

“So, Frank. Do you have a girlfriend?” Kellin’s mother asks, sipping idly from her wine glass.

"Actually," Frank says, scrunching up is face, "I'm gay." 

"Oh," Kellin's mother says. "Well that's okay.  Isn't it Kellin?" 

"Of course it is. There's no reason it wouldn't be. I’m not very straight either, and you know that, mom," Kellin replies, flicking his glance momentarily at Frank, who has a small, appreciative smile tacked on to his face. Kellin suspects that before this information had not been received well. 

Kellin’s mother stiffens and then relaxes, smiling. “Of course, honey. And I love you the way you are.”

Kellin decides then that he doesn’t care about things like Frank’s sexuality. Well, he does  _care,_ but not enough to let it dictate how his relationship with Frank will develop. Frank is there to take away Kellin's lonely, and Kellin is there to take away Frank's. 

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_~Three weeks later~_

"Dude," Kellin whispers, nudging a sleeping Frank lightly with his toe, "Dude, get up. We need to get to school."

Frank groans from beneath the pile of blankets on the floor. "Leave me here to die."

The boys and been switching back and forth between staying at the other's house, and Frank had opted to finally go to sleep at the luxurious hour of three mother fucking a.m. , knowing full well the pair had school in the morning. 

"Frank, get your sorry ass up," Kellin grumbles. 

Frank groans again, and slowly shifts the pile of blankets off of him.  "Make me cereal bitch," he says while fighting with the zipper on his backpack to find his other shirt. 

"Well we're on our period this morning huh?" Kellin says, teasing his obviously exhausted friend. 

"I hate you so much. Can I use your shower?"

"No way. I don't want you getting period blood everywhere. There's a clean towel in the cabinet."

"Now go make me cereal you fucking whore."

This is how their relationship has evolved. Seemingly cruel taunts that are really nothing but caring. The two have become joined at the hip in no time flat, despite how rocky their parent's relationship is becoming.  Whenever their parents talk, which is becoming less and less frequent, there’s more screaming than actual dialogue. And when there is dialogue, it’s about money, or drugs, or alcohol, or something else Kellin and Frank like to pretend their parents don’t do.

 They don't care, really. All they can tell is that they aren't lonely. They aren't lonely, and the person that took away their lonely can tell how they’re feeling without them even having to vocalize it. 

It feels amazing.

Frank locks the door to the bathroom and turns on the faucet. He peels off his shirt and pants, throwing them unceremoniously in the corner. 

The water is warm and that seriously is the only thought in Frank's mind until Kellin screams at him through the door about using all the hot water and soggy cereal. 

As soon as he’s dry and a clean t-shirt is administered (can't say the same for the jeans though, they aren't all that dirty anyway, who even cares) and his hair had been returned to its regular partially controlled state, Frank opens the door and walks downstairs. 

"God, you are  _such_  a girl about getting ready! Oh look at me, I'm Frankeh, I gotta look pretty for all dem boys!" Kellin says in a high pitched voice, mocking Frank as soon as he is in sight. 

"At least I don't spend fifteen billion years picking out an outfit."

"That's because you only own two pairs of jeans."

"And?"

Kellin shakes his head. "Eat your goddamn mush. You took so long pretending to be a chick your cereal got soggy." 

"Aw, thanks honey!" Frank jokes, pecking Kellin on the cheek.

"Ew gross! Ew ew ew! Now I have to burn this whole half of my beautiful face off! Thanks, Frank!"

"Welcome!" Frank shouts as Kellin disappears upstairs, the cries of 'ew' and 'gross' still echoing down the hall.

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	2. Chapter 2

Broken glass all over the floor?

Check.

Sirens?

Check. 

Four delinquent boys with pockets and backpacks stuffed full of cash and jewelry?

Check.

"Sykes, Fuentes, get your asses moving. Way, shoot the security cameras. I'll go get the truck and see if we can beat the cops again." 

The boy barking out orders is tall and lanky, with short dark hair and insanely blue eyes, and a voice, as described by the girls that fawn relentlessly over him, like liquid butter.

"Andy, you do know you can use our names and we won't kill you, right?" one of the shorter boys says. A bandanna covers his nose and mouth, and a dark hood is pulled over his head. All that is visible of the boy is his dark brown eyes just barely peeking out over the edge of the black bandanna, along with his tan cheekbones.

"I know! Now get going, the sirens are getting closer!" the boy shouts as he rolls his eyes and jumps over the counter and out the back door of the jewelry store. 

One of the boys pulls out a gun and begins to shoot every camera in his sight, while the other two produce spray paint cans and begin to draw an elaborate lotus flower in various dark blues, blacks and purples over the name of the store. 

An engine roars nearby, and as it draws closer, the boys one by one jump over the counter and out the back door, making their escape just as the first boy had.

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"And we are some rich motherfuckers!" Andy shouts. He has diamond earrings in his ears, paired with several expensive looking necklaces wrapped around his neck and the wads of hundred dollar bills he’s rubbing on his face. 

The three other boys in his entourage chuckle, each flicking through a stack of bills they have in their hands. 

"I've got $850."

"$1,256."

"An even $2,000."

 A comfortable silence falls across the room.

"So that would make the total..."

"Somewhere near $80,000 in cash and probably about $10,000 more in jewelry."

Andy looks at his group. The boys who have bound themselves together with unspoken agreements and words, who knew each other's sleep patterns and addictions, their life long dreams and goals.  There’s no such thing as a secret in this group. 

Of course, Andy and his best friend Oli were already up to their necks in drugs and other illegal things when they met Vic Fuentes, the short Hispanic boy with dark brown eyes whose family owned a small country store that Oli and Andy robbed. Vic had walked in on the boys mid-robbery, standing there like a deer in headlights. The three boys stood there for a second, staring at each other, before Vic spoke, slowly and shakily.

"Need any help?"

It was then that Andy and Oli decided that they wanted Vic to stick around. Upon discovery that they all attended the same school, the pair invited Vic to hang out with them, earning Vic a reputation as one of the most dangerous and badass guys in school, even though in reality he was nothing but sweet and caring.

The fourth boy of their group, however, is something of an enigma on his own. 

At first glance, you could easily pass Gerard Way off as no one worth paying attention to, with his short bleached blond hair and hazel eyes, and his generally quiet and evasive manner. 

But when someone broke into the school and covered every whiteboard in every classroom with very graphic yet beautiful art of zombies, vampires and other strange things, obviously the first three people under suspicion were Andy, Vic and Oli. 

Vic remembered that day after school, when the trio were perched on top of the roof after Oli had discovered the door in the janitor’s closet that lead up there.

Andy was smoking, taking long pulls on the cigarette, staring far off into the distance, at nothing in particular. Oli was laying on his back, his arms crossed over his face, chest rising and falling slowly in a rhythm, attempting to sleep, while Vic just sat there, watching the white cotton-y clouds drift across the sky at a leisurely pace. 

"So who do you think did the graffiti? Were they trying to upstage us?" Andy said between drags of his cigarette. 

"I'm not sure, to be honest. Maybe they wanted our attention," Oli said, his accent thicker than usual, weighed down with sleep.

"Whoever they are, they've got some mad skills," Vic chimed in.

"Agreed," Andy muttered as he pushed the butt of his cigarette against the roof, putting it out. "Whoever they are, I have no idea why they aren't hanging out with us.  I'd love to meet them."

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No more than a week later, the three boys were sitting at the back of their biology class, the only one they shared, heckling the teacher and paying little attention to the actual lesson.

All of the teachers in the school had given up on attempting to make the trio focus, leaving them to do whatever they pleased, knowing that no matter what they tried it would fail. Andy was on his phone playing some game, while Vic and Oli slid notes back and forth to each other, ignoring the entire lesson.  But that doesn't mean that the rest of the class could just slack off.

"Mr. Way," the short, pudgy man at the front of the classroom, the designated authority said. "You had best hope whatever you're finding so interesting is worth sharing with the class."

The boy's eyes blew wide. He shook his head, sliding the sketchbook that previously sat on his desk into his lap. The teacher walked up to him and held out his hand. 

"Mr. Way, please give me the sketchbook."

The boy shook his head, clutching the sketchbook closely to him.  The teacher thrust his hand out again, tapping his foot impatiently. 

"If you don't hand over the sketchbook, I'm afraid I'll have to give you detention."

Reluctantly, the blond boy handed over the sketchbook with shaky hands. 

The teacher walked it back up to the front of the classroom and flipped the sketchbook open, sliding the first piece of artwork under the projector screen.

Andy sat bolt upright, staring with wide eyes at the screen. He reached his arm around Vic to smack Oli in the back of the head, dragging the boy's attention to the screen.

"That art look familiar to you?" Andy said, gesturing to the front of the classroom.

Oli squinted at the board for a moment, taking in the artwork before them.

"Yeah," He said.

"Wait, that's the same style of art as the graffiti!" Vic said. Andy nodded in agreement.

"Whose sketchbook is that?" Oli asked.  "I think it's that Way kid... uh... Jared? No...Gerard! That's it!" Vic said. 

"We're gonna talk to him after class, alright?" Andy decided for the group.

The teacher continued to put Gerard's work on display for the class, and Oli and Vic muttered their agreements. 

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As soon as the bell rang, Gerard leaped up out of his seat, snatched his sketchbook from the teacher's desk and bolted out the door.

"Damn," Oli said, following Vic and Andy out of the classroom, "He's a fast one."

Somehow, the trio caught up with Gerard, just outside of the library. 

"Hey!" Vic shouted. The boy flinched, and turned slowly to face them, eyes cast down, trembling slightly. 

"Hey, no. it's okay, we just want to talk. We promise we don't want to hurt you.  Were you the kid who did the graffiti on the whiteboards?"  Vic asked, shifting his tone to the same one he used on his little brother when he was scared. Obviously Gerard was a little frightened, he had probably heard the wild and mostly untrue rumors about the boys. 

With his eyes still cast down, Gerard nodded. 

"Dude, that was amazing.  You're a great artist, anyone ever tell you that?" Andy spoke up. 

Gerard's eyes lit up, a small smile twitching at his lips. "Really?" He whispered, his voice shaky and hardly audible. 

"Really. Would you like to sit with us at lunch?" Vic continued. Gerard's eyes flicked to Andy (whose face was expressionless) and then to Oli, who had a warm smile etched into his features. 

"S-sure," Gerard said. 

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From there, Gerard had slid easily into their group.  Since breaking into the school and covering the walls with graffiti was no problem, participating in the group's already flamboyant and slightly illegal lifestyle was no problem at all.  

And they had come to agree: they’re a family, together through whatever bullshit the world throws at them.

Even now, as they sit in the living room floor of Gerard’s house and strap rubber bands around stolen wads of money, Andy can still sense that promise. He can sense it, and it feels stronger than ever.

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	3. Chapter 3

The silver light of the moon creeps into Frank's room, illuminating the walls with a greyish white light.  Two boys are sharing a bed, one laying on his back, arms folded over his chest, eyes open and staring at the ceiling, the other on his stomach with his face buried in the pillow. 

Kellin had decided he didn't want to sleep on the floor of Frank's room tonight, and after much teasing about Kellin's secret desire for Frank's body and a rather violent pillow fight, Frank had scooted over and given Kellin half of the bed. Kellin had hit Frank over the head once more with his pillow before finally curling up and going to sleep. 

Kellin's breathing is steady, the fabric of the blanket and his clothes moving in a gentle rhythm that Frank can track easily. It delivers some form of comfort to him, having another person lay next to him.  Frank has once more been plagued with a minor bout of insomnia - some nights he can just go to sleep, and then some nights he lays awake for hours before he actually feels tired.

Tonight is one of the latter nights. 

Frank sighs heavily and once more tries to memorize the patterns on his ceiling.  It isn't long before he releases a distressed groan and covers his face with his arm.

He won't be sleeping tonight. Frank figures he’ll probably be able to catch a quick nap during his English class, and that will probably be enough sleep to keep him sane until he finally crashes in one or two days. 

Across the city, alone in a dark house, another boy sits in front of a window, the same pale moonlight that is keeping Frank company shedding a dim light on his sketchbook.  

This boy is awake by his own choice, choosing not to sleep, choosing to push his body to the brink of exhaustion, waiting for his little brother to come home, or call, or something. 

He presses the pencil harder against the paper, making broad, rough strokes. He isn't quite sure what he’s drawing yet, sometimes he’ll just move the pencil and let the picture create itself. This is how he loses himself. He can forget that the world is a cruel and torturous place full of rape and murder and crying mothers over the dead bodies of their children. This way, he can escape. He’s safe in this world, the world of paint and charcoal and graphite.  

His pencil pauses when the door downstairs opens, the usual creak resounding loud in the otherwise empty house. 

"Gee?" A voice calls, weighed with concern and panic. Gerard’s heart races.

He shoves the sketchbook and the pencil off his lap and to the side. Bolting downstairs, he nearly passes out when he sees the scene in front of him. 

Andy is standing in the foyer, his blue eyes conveying an emotion of nothing but sorrow and pain. He’s holding a bruised and bloody body, an arm of the person slung around Andy's shoulder, Andy's free arm wrapped around their waist.

"Mikey...... Oh my god," Gerard says, rushing forward and taking his brother from his friend's arms. 

"Fuck, we need to clean you up. What even happened?" Gerard says in a rush as he helps his moaning brother stumble to the cabinet of a bathroom they had on the first floor. Andy leans against the door frame of the bathroom and heaves a sigh. 

Gerard places his hands on his brother's hips and gently lifts him onto the counter, and then begins scavenging through the cabinets, pulling out various ointments and bottles. He pushes past Andy and goes back into the kitchen, retrieving two cold water bottles and a pencil. 

"Oh Mikey," Gerard whispers, lovingly stroking his brother's bruised and slightly swollen face.

"Motherfucker, if you don't have a decent explanation for this I'm going to kick your sorry little ass,” Gerard growls as he stabs a hole in the lid of one of the water bottles with the pencil. 

Andy heaves yet another sigh.   "Well..."

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Kellin is whimpering by Frank's side. His face is contorted in pain, his legs thrashing out, small mutters of the word 'no' just barely escaping his lips. 

For a moment, Frank simply watches, wondering if the nightmare will pass or if it will blossom into something more. When Kellin begins moving his torso and the cries of 'no 'become more audible, Frank simply begins to rub his friend's shoulder, pressing his chest to Kellin's side, attempting to remind his subconscious that he isn't alone in the room. 

Kellin releases one more whimper and then all movement ceases. A calm sigh shudders through his body, and Frank doesn't move at all until he’s sure that Kellin has fallen back into an easy sleep. 

After all, if someone can sleep, it needs to be restful. Frank lays back down, turning away slightly from Kellin. He can feel something swelling up in his chest, an emotion, and he isn't sure what it is. It isn't love, he'd felt that once and this emotion is a lot less definitive, but it’s.... similar. The same attachment, the same constant need to have the other person within eyesight, if not by your side. 

Frank allows his confused thoughts to flood his mind and control him for a while, until he suddenly finds his vision drifting in and out of focus and his eyelids becoming heavier. 

 _Note to self,_  he thinks,  _think about emotions to get tired._

With that, Frank feels the dark wave that is sleep slide over him and pull him deep down under its dark current. 

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 Mikey groans again and grips Andy's wrist tightly, digging his fingernails into the skin.

"Hold still, Mikes, this will hurt a hell of a lot more if you don't stop moving," Gerard says as he guides the needle threaded with dental floss through the open wound that is currently oozing dark, crimson blood at a steady rate down Mikey's chest and Gerard's hand. Mikey digs his nails deeper into Andy's skin and grits his teeth, trying not to concentrate on the pain.

"Andy, can you call Vic and Oli? I think we need to...discuss... some things about some people," Gerard says as he ties up the dental floss and rubs a water-soaked cloth gently over the deeper of the many wounds on Mikey's chest. 

Mikey winces once more and slowly releases his grip on Andy, who then shoves his hand in his pants pocket and fights his phone free, walking out of the small bathroom, already talking to one of the aforementioned boys. 

It takes every ounce of willpower Gerard has in his body to not punch a wall right now. Mikey is hurt, and hurt bad. All because of him and his stupid decisions and his stupid friends and God he is just so stupid, stupid, stupid. 

"Gee," Mikey croaks. "You shouldn't blame yourself for this, okay? This is nobody's fault but the people that did this, and we both know that Oli and Andy won’t stand for this.  There's always going to be another gang, another robbery, and someone taking your guy's talents too seriously and trying to upstage you and getting pissed when they fail. Nobody needs to die. I'm okay, Gee. Pinky promise."

Gerard clenches and unclenches his fists, and then looks up at his brother. "You are still my little brother and my decisions still played a part in you getting hurt.  I don't care how much you try to talk me out of this, we are still fucking a bitch up," He says as he walks out of the bathroom. 

Mikey shakes his head and looks at his hands. He hopes that the people that jumped him have said their prayers, because they’re going to be nothing but dead bodies come sunrise.

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An hour later, five boys sit in a circle in the middle of Gerard's living room floor. All of the boys, except for one, have black hoodies on and bandannas in their laps. 

Andy taps his pencil against the notebook in his lap. 

“Will you stop that?” Vic asks. Andy glares at him, but relents, opting to chew on the eraser of his pencil.

"So it sounds like you were jumped by the gang that tried to burn that one billboard to upstage our little Walmart robbery hostage thing a few weeks back. Vic, where are they at now?" Andy asks, removing the pencil from his mouth.

"Last I heard, their base was on the southeastern corner of Hazel Street. Behind a small, quiet neighborhood," Vic says. Andy nods and scribbles it down in his notebook.

"I vote we go in with war cries and firing guns like we never run out of ammo," Oli says. 

"I second that," Gerard agrees, a definitive fight ablaze in his eyes. 

"Unless you would like to land all our asses in prison, do not fire your damn gun until someone shoots at you first," Andy says. Oli pouts for a second and crosses his arms.

"Somebody Google Map this place so I can get a good idea of the area we'll be working in," Andy says. Gerard leans over and pulls out his laptop, turning it on and pulling up the website. Gerard plugs in the needed coordinates, and the image that appears on the screen clears after a moment.

The five boys all crowd around the computer screen, scrutinizing every small detail about the location. Andy makes notes as they go along, scribbling things in the margins and filling the page with every single aspect of the area available.

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An hour and a half later, four boys are walking down a dimly lit street. Bandannas are covering their faces and guns are hidden on their persons, in two of their cases, multiple guns.

Heavy breathing and nearly silent footsteps, twitchy and anticipating. The adrenaline rush of the oncoming fight is coursing through all of their veins, but the fight is closer upon them than they think.

Out of nowhere, gunfire hails upon them. Immediately the four boys jump into action, drawing their weapons and returning equally violent gunfire to their so far hidden opponent.

“Shit! The people in these houses! Fuck, fuck fuck they’re gonna get caught in the crossfire!” Andy shouts, pulling the second gun from his pocket. He starts shooting them both in the direction the gunfire had originated from, shifting closer to the other boys in his group.

As Andy had predicted, a bullet from the opposing gang flies through a second-story window of a house nearby, and Andy swears loudly.

“Gerard, go and check, see that no one got hurt,” Andy shouts above the gunfire.

Gerard nods and tosses his gun to Vic and then runs across the street, smiling a little to himself when he hears Oli calling the other gang names, distracting them from Gerard as he breaks away from the other boys.

He kicks the lock of the door to the house with all his might and the door swings free.

“Second story. I hope it isn’t a little kid’s room,” Gerard mutters as he bolts up the staircase.

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Frank wakes up when there are loud popping noises outside his house.  There’s a loud crash, and suddenly there is a hole in his window and a bullet lodged in his wall, not too far away from the door.

Kellin’s eyes fly open. “Frank…. What?” he says, rubbing his eyes. “What’s that popping?”

“Gunfire. There’s a gang that has a base in one of the abandoned houses down the road. It’s probably just a gang fight, stay calm.”

“Stay calm? What the fuck man, how does  _anybody_  stay clam during a situation like this? How the hell are  _you_  calm?”

“It’s not the first time I’ve woken up to gangs shooting at each other’s stupid faces.  Seriously though, if you’re so concerned, you can go in the bathroom. There’s only one really small, high-placed window in there.”

“And what about you?” Kellin asks. Frank shrugs.

“I’ll stay here. Like I said, it’s nothing new to me,” Kellin shakes his head and stands up, grabbing a pillow and a blanket.

“You’re fucking crazy. Whatever, I’m sleeping in the damn bathtub,” Kellin says as he drags his stuff to the bathroom.

Frank begins to memorize the patterns on the ceiling once more, letting the popping sort of lull him into a trance like state, which is abruptly shattered when a person opens his door abruptly.

Frank jumps up onto his feet, searching for any sort of weapon he may have near his bed, his fingers settling and latching onto a letter opener.

The person pulled down the bandanna and pushed back the hood, holding their hands up so Frank can see that he’s unarmed. “Whoa there, it’s okay. I just wanted to check to see if anybody got hurt.”

He is really, really attractive, Frank decides. His hair is so blonde it’s almost white, and all Frank wants to do is thread his fingers through it. No matter how attractive the boy is, however, that doesn’t stop the fact that Kellin is sleeping in the bathtub and there’s shards of glass spread across the floor.

“You’re lucky, motherfucker. Everything’s good, except, you know, there’s a bullet in the wall,” Frank says, gesturing to just beside the boy. “Care to explain?”

Gerard is in awe. This boy in front of him... dear God. He wants so, so badly to kiss this guy, fuck, he has a lip ring and based on minor experience Gerard knows that those feel fucking fantastic when kissing. 

“Are you going to stand there looking like a fish out of water or are you going to tell me what the fuck is going on?”

Gerard is snapped back to reality rather quickly after that.

“Uh, so, um...” Gerard starts. He has no idea how to tell this guy it’s a gang fight and not have him jump up and call the police.

“Dude, don’t bullshit me. You’re in a gang. I know. Just explain the basics and you can go back out there and kick some ass.”

Gerard breathes a sigh of relief. “Yeah so I’m in a gang, and a rival gang jumped my brother and naturally I’m pissed. So we decided to kill a bitch,” He explains quickly.

Frank nods. “Is your brother okay?”

He watches Gerard breathe deep, his chest shaking and shoulders quivering. Frank knows that Gerard is fighting down tears. Whether the tears are out of rage or sadness, Frank isn’t sure.

“He’s... okay. He’s alive. But I feel like this is my fault, you know?”

Frank starts to walk across the room slowly. He wraps his arms around Gerard’s waist and nuzzles into his neck, his lips hardly ghosting the area just beside his ear.

“Tell me now if you aren’t into this shit because you’re really fucking hot and I really wanna kiss you,” Frank whispers.

Gerard’s heart is trying to break free of his ribcage. He tilts Frank’s chin upwards with a few of his fingers. “How about one kiss for good luck?” He breathes.

Frank cracks a small smile and leans up to press his lips to Gerard’s.

Pure ecstasy mixes itself with the already pumping adrenaline in Gerard’s veins. The boy’s lips are soft, and the cool metal of the lip ring is all too enticing. He sucks on it lightly, dragging a small moan out of the shorter boy’s mouth.  The boy reaches his fingers up and tangles them in Gerard’s hair, causing Gerard to squeeze the other boy’s hips in appreciation.

When they finally separate, Gerard is the one to break the silence. “Fuck,” He says, the word hardly audible.

“You’re telling me. And I don’t even know your name,” Frank smirks, letting his hands drop from Gerard’s hair to around his neck.

Gerard smiles. “My name is Gerard.”

“Well hello Gerard. I’m Frank. Now get your cute ass back out there and kill a bitch.”

Gerard smiles and pulls his hood and bandanna back up.

“See you again… maybe,” Gerard says as he runs out of the bedroom door and out of the house, back into the street alongside his companions.

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Three corpses. None belonging to his friends. That is all that matters to Gerard when he catches up with the rest of the boys, still slightly frazzled from Frank’s kiss.

Vic tosses Gerard’s gun back to him. “Stats?” Gerard shouts above the gunfire.

“Approximately seven total, three dead or fatally injured. Trying to corner them into the empty parking lot away from the houses,” Oli shouts back.

“Sounds good. Let’s get moving then,” Gerard says as he advances directly into the hail of bullets.

Slightly taken aback by their friend’s sudden burst of courage, the other boys follow his lead after a very brief moment of hesitation.

It takes Andy less than a minute to devise a plan. “Cease fire. Bolt like a fourteen year old caught with his dick in the pastor’s daughter to the parking lot. On three... One... Two... THREE! CEASE FIRE! GO, GO, GO!”

All four boys run as fast as they can to the parking lot, confused shouts from the rival gang echoing behind them and increasing in volume as their opponents start following them.

Diving for cover behind dumpsters and abandoned vehicles, the boys wait until the gang catches up with them. Shouts of ‘where did they go’ and ‘come out, come out, you scared little shits’ echoing across the parking lot.

Oli looks over at Andy. “How many should we leave standing?” He mouths.  

Andy appears to ponder the question for a moment before he raises three fingers in response. Slowly, all the boys begin to emerge from their hiding spots, firearms reloaded and ready.

Before the other gang even has a chance to react, two bullets have already imbedded themselves in two different skulls, a third making its home in a rib. The last one finds its destination in the soft fleshy skin of a neck, and the remaining people standing have lowered their weapons in fear.

“Run,” Andy growls, deep and menacing. “Run fast and don’t  _ever_  mess with Mikey Way again.”

The remaining gang members run in a scurried, disorganized panic out and away from the parking lot.

With a pleased sigh, Andy unloads and tucks away his guns, the rest of the boys following suit.

“What about the bodies?” Vic asks. Andy shrugs.

“Let them bury their own dead. It’s not any of our business.”

Once more, there are sirens growing in the distance, and all of the boys are still absorbed in that post-adrenaline rush haze. When their senses finally kick back in, they start to run home with whoops and hollers and shouts of ‘Fuck yeah!’ echoing deep into the night, the sirens growing farther and farther away from them the faster they run.

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	4. Chapter 4

Kellin wakes up with cramps in places he doesn’t think you should be able to get cramps.  Mostly in his legs and neck, because that bathtub is not at all large enough to hold his entire body comfortably.

He pushes himself out of the stupid thing and walks back into Frank’s room.

Frank, of course, is cuddled into his pillow, sleeping deeply and soundly, duct tape patched over the broken window and the glass dumped in the trash bin beside aforementioned widow.

He glances at the clock on Frank’s bedside table. Fuck, they’re late for school! Oh well, they’re ditching now, whether Frank wants to or not.

Kellin decides that Frank needs to wake the fuck up. Slowly, a devious smile creeps onto Kellin’s face. He stands on Frank’s bed, his feet just below Frank’s.

He starts jumping, and shouting a chorus of “Frankie Frankie Frankie Frankie” until Frank finally gains consciousness enough to the point he leans forward just enough yank Kellin’s leg out from under him, causing him to topple next to (and slightly on to) Frank.  

“We’re late for school,” Kellin says as he pokes Frank’s cheek. Frank swats away Kellin’s hand and lazily opens an eye.

“I take it we’re ditching?” Frank asks, already anticipating Kellin’s answer by his happy, hyperactive mood.

“Yuppers. So what do you want to do today Frank?” He asks. Frank shrugs beneath the blanket and shifts over onto his back.

“How about I tell ya a little story?” Frank says, stretching and then putting his arms behind his head.

“Tell me the story, oh wise Frankie,” Kellin says, folding his hands under his chin, laying on his stomach.

“Once upon a time, last night, not long after you decided you were a big baby and went to sleep in the bathtub, a very attractive boy walked into this very room.”

Kellin raises his eyebrows. “Did you call a hooker? Frankie, seriously, people like them have so many fucking diseases their dicks are green and their assholes-”

Frank cuts Kellin off with a smack to the head with his pillow. “No dumbass, he was in one of the gangs that were shooting at each other last night. He came in to see if anyone got hurt. Now are you gonna let me tell the rest of the story?”

“Wait wait wait! Lemme guess! You sucked his face off?” Kellin says.

A blush rises in Frank’s cheeks, and he sputters for a moment before whacking Kellin with the pillow once more.

Kellin chuckles. “You’re such a whore, Frank. But I find this mystery boy really intriguing.  We should track him down.”

At that, Frank laughs. “Dude, he’s in a gang. He is most likely an  _expert_  at not letting people find him. It was just a kiss, and all together finding him is a pointless cause, really.”

Now it’s Kellin’s turn to smack Frank with a pillow. “Don’t be such a hopeless romantic! My psychic powers are telling me that this boy is going to be a lot more than ‘just a kiss’ if me and my psychic powers have anything to say about it! Now get your scrawny butt out of bed and prepare to be psychic-power-ified! Also, I’m going to eat all your Pop-Tarts,” Kellin shouts, adding the Pop-Tarts as an afterthought as he jumps up out of bed, flying across the room and out the door. His footsteps resound as the pounds down the staircase.

Frank grins at Kellin’s hyperactive-ness. He drags himself out of bed and locates a clean pair of boxers before pulling back on the clothes he had fallen asleep in (he was too lazy to put on pajamas, so he just fell asleep in the t-shirt and jeans he’d been wearing during the day) and walks downstairs to find Kellin sitting on the counter swinging his legs, munching on a Pop-Tart.

“How the hell are you so perky? You slept in a goddamn bathtub like fucking Ke$ha, and yet here you are, all happy and sparkly like a unicorn humping a rainbow.”

Kellin shrugs and continues to eat his Pop-Tart.  “There was a gang fight and a gang member kissed my friend plus POTENTIAL DEAD BODIES and puppies are a thing and I don’t really know, I’m just happy.”

Frank smiles and grabs a box of cereal and sits on the counter next to Kellin, plunging his hands into the box and shoving the cereal messily into his mouth.

“I suppose that’s a legit reason,” He says through a mouthful of Fruit Loops.  “We should make the best of your mood though.”

“How so?” Kellin asks, grabbing another Pop-Tart.

“Well, I thought that we should go to the mall or something and play a little game I like to call, ‘How-Quick-Can-We-Get-Kicked-Out-Of-Every-Store’,” Frank says, taking the box of Fruit Loops and pouring some in to Kellin’s outstretched hand.  

Kellin nods in agreement and dumps the Fruit Loops into his mouth.  “But if we get arrested or some shit, I’ve never met you and my name is Carlos.”

“Sounds good, Carlos. Now let’s go!”

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Once the duo arrive at the mall, they discuss which stores they want to target first.

“I vote Bath and Body Works,” Kellin says. Frank grins, a plan bouncing around and forming in his head.

“Okay. Let’s do this shit,” He agrees, racing ahead of Kellin and skipping steps up the escalator.

The smell of the store can suffocate, it reeks of various sugary and flowery scents, causing Frank to pull his shirt over his nose and groan. “Ugh, it smells like girl in here.”

 Kellin chuckles, inhaling deeply, then proceeding to have a cough attack.

“Dear Jesus. This place smells like my mom before she goes out on a first date. Like, she fucking dumps bottle after bottle of this shit all over her,” Kellin chokes out, in between coughs.

“Ready to get our asses kicked out of this hellhole?” Frank asks.

“You bet your ass,” Kellin replies, all too eager to get the hell  _out_.  

Frank gins at Kellin before calmly walking over to the body wash section of the store. He begins to act as though he were a shopper, picking up a bottle of something that had to do with more flowers and shit and casually opening the cap, inhaling.

It smells absolutely disgusting. Frank decides he likes the thick, musky scent that men had attached to them much, much  _much_  better. But of course, this revelation doesn’t exactly surprise him. Frank knows that he’s gay as hell, and that anything that smells like a girl is automatically gross.  

But putting that aside, his current goal is to get kicked out of this flowery deathtrap.

Shifting a quick look behind his shoulder at the cashier, then to Kellin (who is currently scrutinizing the wall of lotions) Frank undoes the lid of the body wash.

Checking once more to make sure he isn’t being watched, he takes off his jacket, and then slowly as discreetly as he possibly can in his current location, Frank removes his shirt.

Quickly, he smears the body wash into a shitty pentagram on his chest, then proceeding to draw an equally shitty pagan symbol (that he doesn’t exactly remember the name of, he just remembers seeing it in a textbook once) on a poster to his left, dropping to his knees and shouting in the little Latin he knows.

Frank is suddenly being pulled to his feet by two security guards, his clothing being practically thrown at him. Managing to catch Kellin’s eye, Frank sends him a huge grin.

 “Hail Satan! He shall save your souls from the purging of God!” Frank shouts as he’s being dragged out of the store, biting down laughter when Kellin gives him the best ‘what-the-everlasting-fuck’ look Frank’s ever seen.

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Miraculously, Frank doesn’t get kicked out of the mall, and he isn’t arrested. Frank makes the excuse (a very poor one, but somehow the obese and slightly ignorant mall cop accepts it) that he had had a lot of emotional trauma in his childhood, and that particular body wash had triggered some painful memory.

He was released with a warning, astoundingly.

In the meantime, Kellin has successfully been asked to leave (not removed by force like Frank, the flamboyant little fuck) by hitting on the cashier.

Okay, so maybe he flat out told the cashier she had nice tits.

Yes, it’s a cruel and douchebaggy move, but the point of the game is to get kicked out.

Looking back on it, he probably should have done something different. Unfortunately, it’s too late to do anything now.

Kellin sits on a bench in the food court, waiting for Frank. When Frank finally appears, he’s got a shit eating grin on his face.

“Mission accomplished?” Frank asks Kellin, sitting across from him.

“Indeed,” Kellin replies.

“What’d you do? Frank asks.

Kellin grins. “I told the cashier she had nice tits. She didn’t like that too much, so she told me to leave. I did. I’m not a little fuck of a showoff, unlike you. Fucker.”

Frank can’t fight off a grin this time. “What? Hey, the whole point of the game is to get kicked out. I got kicked out. Shall we continue the game?”

Kellin looks at the digital clock above the food court.

“First, I want food.  Then we shall,” Kellin says, standing up and heading over to the Panda Express kiosk, Frank following after him.

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“And so to find the value of  _x_  you divide four by itself and then go to the other side of the equal sign...”

Gerard’s math teacher drones on and on and on, and honestly Gerard no longer has any desire to hear about these damned equations, he wants to fucking ditch.

Usually, Gerard is the one talking the boys into staying at school. This time though, he’s the one talking them in to leaving.

“Guys,” Gerard whines, drawing out the u and y, “I wanna leeeeeeaaaaave.”

Andy shakes his head. “Gee, we’ve already missed a fuckload of school this semester, we are  _this_  close to landing our asses in prison. And you  _know_  that if they arrest us for one thing they’ll find out about the rest.”

Gerard makes a puppy face. “Oli, tell him he’s an inconsiderate fuckwad and we should ditch.”

Oli looks up at Gerard and stops poking his fork at the goop the cafeteria has tried to pass as chicken and rice, giving Gerard a huge grin. Oli turns to Andy and calmly states, “You are an inconsiderate fuckwad and we should ditch.”

“I second that,” Vic says.

Gerard’s grin rivals Oli’s. “You hear that Andy? The vote is three to one. We’re ditching.”

Andy sighs and drops his head to the table with a painful  _thunk_.

“Firstly, ow. Second, you all are bent on getting us turned into someone's prison bitch. You cannot fathom the amount of idiocy that you all possess. Let’s go before someone notices we’re gone.”

After a (quiet) cheer of victory, the boys exit the school grounds as discreetly as possible and pile into Andy’s truck.

“So where to?” Andy asks over the combined roar of the music blaring through the speakers and the engine.

“Mall! I want something that can actually be classified as food!” Oli shouts in reply.

“Sounds good to me.”  Andy says. They pull out of the school parking lot and on to the highway.

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“And Jesus said, ‘Let there be Chinese food’,” Kellin says through a mouthful of fried rice.

“I agree,” Frank says as he leans over the table a little bit and stabs a piece of Kellin’s chicken with his fork.

“Hey!” Kellin pouts. Frank simply sends him a devilish smile and proceeds to steal another piece of chicken, laughing when Kellin keeps pouting and flips him off.

“So which store shall be our next victim?” Kellin asks, standing slightly and reaching over the table to steal some of Frank’s food.

Frank gasps, pretending to be offended, dropping the act before responding.

“I think... Victoria’s Secret,” Frank says.

Kellin breaks out in a huge smile. “I’ve got a plan. Finish your food so we can get this show on the road, because trust me. This is a genius plan.”

Frank raises an eyebrow skeptically, but speeds up his eating nonetheless. His curiosity over Kellin’s plan is killing him.

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After a death-defying drive (and way too much road rage from Andy), the four boys pile out of the car and enter the mall.

“Food. Now,” Oli says, running towards the nearest escalator. Gerard keeps his eye on Oli, but turns to Andy and Vic.

“I know you two wanna go to Hot Topic, so I’ll hang out with Oli and you two can go fuck around,” Gerard says. Andy pats Gerard on the shoulder.

“Thank you man.  Only you have the patience to deal with Oli when he’s hungry.”

Gerard smiles, gives a two finger mock-salute and dashes after Oli, running up the escalator two at a time to attempt to catch up with him.

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Receiving multiple dirty and disgusted looks from both the employees and customers, Kellin and Frank calmly enter Victoria’s Secret.

“Follow my lead,” Kellin whispers to Frank, continuing on into the store when he gets a nod in response.

 Kellin walks over to the weird ass bin things that all the underwear is in and pulls up a small, lacey black thong.

“What do you think honey? Would I look good in this?” Kellin asks, holding the thin piece of material up.

“Hmm,” Frank says. He shoots Kellin a smirk before taking the thong and holding it against the front of Kellin’s pants.

“You would look delicious, darling,” Frank said, making sure that the people in the store can hear him.

Kellin is poorly suppressing a huge grin, trying his very best to look serious. “Would you like me to model it for you?”

“Yes, yes I would,” Frank says, failing himself to keep down a smile.

The pair walk in the direction of the changing rooms, holding hands, until an employee steps in front of them.

“I’m sorry sirs, but we’re going to have to ask you to leave,” She says, looking them up and down with a look is undoubtedly disgust.

Frank wraps an arm around Kellin’s waist and feigns offense. “Well don’t expect either myself  _or_  my beautiful boyfriend to  _ever_  shop here again!”

They fake anger as they march out of the store, Kellin shooting the thong like a rubber band at the employee who had so politely kicked them out and Frank raising a hand with his middle finger high as they leave.

They choke down giggles as they leave the store, and as soon as they’re a good fifty or so feet away, they collapse in laughter, leaning against the other like they can hold each other up. Which they can’t, because their entire bodies are shaking with the force of their laughter.

“That was the  _best_  idea ever! Oh god Kells, I can’t feel my sides dear Jesus!” Frank laughs.

“Did you see her fucking face? ‘Sirs, I’m going to have to ask you to leave because I’m jealous that your dick game is better than mine’. Her face! Her face!” Kellin mocks the employee, raising his already high pitched voice impossibly higher, causing Frank’s sides to burst with pain from the increase in laughter.

Once they get their breathing back down to a regular rate (or at least semi-regular) they walk back over to the food court, which has become their impromptu home base, collapsing with a flourish, still breathing heavily.

“We deserve an Oscar for that. That was some top-notch acting right there,” Kellin says. Frank nods in agreement.

“So what’s next?” Frank asks, scouring the food kiosks for something he can eat relatively quickly, finally noticing he’s a little hungry, since he skipped lunch and all.

“More food,” Kellin says loudly, standing up abruptly and practically running over to the Baskin Robin’s kiosk.

Frank shakes his head and follows his friend, figuring that ice cream is as good a lunch as anything else in this damn food court.

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Oli glances up from his plate of food at the two boys doubled over in laughter about twenty feet away from himself and Gerard. He’s tempted to shout at them to shut the hell up, but he thinks better of it and shovels more food in his mouth.

“Jesus Oli, slow down, you’re going to choke to death,” Gerard says with a smile. Oli promptly raises his middle finger and continues to practically inhale his food. Gerard simply smiles at his friend’s antics, letting his gaze drift around the pretty damn full food court.

His gaze lands on a boy with short black hair appears to be following a taller boy to the Baskin Robins kiosk, and abruptly, Gerard is thrown into the memories of last night.  This boy does look a lot similar to the one he met last night, but he won’t ever know for sure, not unless he gets up and talks to the boy.

Which is never going to happen, by the way. Gerard had had a hard enough time warming up to Oli, Andy and Vic, and taking up the initiative to go talk to someone on his own is fucking terrifying.

Pushing his anxiety back down to an acceptable rate, Gerard shifts his attention smoothly back to Oli, who’s scooping his food onto his fork, only to set it back down again. Something is most definitely wrong.

“Hey Oli, you okay?” Gerard asks, tilting his head, following Oli’s gaze with his own eyes, trying to find where it is that Oli is staring.

“Yeah... Just...Last night... do you think any of those people we killed were in love?”

Gerard is taken aback, but nonetheless rolls his eyes. “Oli, you shouldn’t worry about that stuff, okay? If they were in love they would have either gotten out of the gang or made sure their partner was aware of the risks. Don’t feel bad, alright? It’s over now, it’s beyond our control.”

Oli nods. “Yeah, you’re right. Did the guys go to Hot Topic?” He asks, changing the subject as he continues to eat the rest of his food.

“Yup. I won’t be surprised if Andy blows his whole life savings in that damned store,” Gerard chuckles.  Oli makes a noise in response and Gerard lets the conversation drop.

His gaze drifts once more to the boy he’d seen earlier, who’s leaning against the counter while his friend either places an order or flirts with the employee.

Gerard squints, trying to pull up the mental image of the boy from last night and compare it to the face of the boy he’s looking at right now.

He feels his pulse rise again, but not from anxiety this time.

This time, it’s from  _excitement_.

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The music is loud, as always, the employees stare at the customers like if they look at them hard enough they’ll drop dead, and Andy is staring up in awe at a wall of band shirts, like every other time the pair ventured into Hot Topic.

Vic, however, is enjoying the music more than anything else around him. Well, a tiny bit more than the look of awe plastered on Andy’s face. That’s always pretty amusing.

“Hey man, can I help you with anything?” An employee asks. He’s got a piercing by his eye (a little unusual, but nonetheless cool) and his ears are stretched to oblivion. Vic internally winces at how much it must have hurt to do that.

“Nah,” Vic says, “I’m just waiting for my friend do get over his bandgasm and buy a goddamned shirt.”

The employee laughs. “Bandgasm. Haven’t heard that one before, and that’s saying something. I’m Tony,” He says, offering his hand for a shake.

 “I’m Vic,” He responds, accepting the handshake.

“Nice to meet you.”

For the next hour or so, Vic leans against the counter and talks to Tony while Andy continues to stare at all the shirts like a child at Christmas. They have some pretty good conversations, and after a bit Vic starts feels like he can trust this guy. He doesn’t seem like a potential ‘member’, probably just a good friend or connection, but Vic’s always looking for those. One of his mottos is “look for low friends in high places.”

When Tony brings up the subject (as a topic that stems off of shoplifting) of the bodies  that the police recovered from a gang fight, Vic can feel himself visibly tensing.

And even though they’ve just met, Tony’s giving Vic nearly every reason to trust him.

With a deep breath, Vic decides to take the chance.

“Promise you won’t freak out if I tell you a secret?” Vic asks, lowering his voice so that the people around him would have to want to listen to hear the conversation. He feels his heart pounding against his ribcage, and he keeps mentally hitting himself because he knows that if this goes wrong Andy will not hesitate to lodge a bullet in his skull, and Tony’s. And so far, Tony hasn’t done anything wrong.

“Sure,” Tony says. Vic takes another deep breath and calmly says words he’s never really said before.

“I’m in a gang. One of the gangs that was in that fight, the winning gang, if you will,” Vic says in a rush, watching Tony’s face for any signs of panic.

For a second, Tony’s pupils dilate in shock, but then they shrink back down to normal size. Tony grins.

“Promise you won’t freak out if I tell you a secret too?” He asks, repeating Vic’s own words.

“Promise,” Vic responds.

“I’m a drug dealer. Second biggest dealer in the county,” Tony admits.

Vic collapses against the counter.

“Oh thank God because I was afraid you were gonna call the police and land my stupid ass in prison,” Vic says.

“I would only do that if I felt like getting caught too. And since the income is pretty good, I think not,” Tony laughs.

“So why do you have a job here then?” Vic asks. He knows a lot of the basic prices for drugs, and depending on how much you’re selling, the job pays pretty damn well, making it all worth the risk, which runs rather high.

“I can’t just help my mom pay bills with magic money that appears out of nowhere. I gotta at least have a job that she knows about somewhere so she doesn’t start to suspect I’m stealing or something.”

At that, Vic laughs.

“Oh yeah, God forbid that you  _stole_  money. Drug dealing is a much more honest way of earning cash.”

Tony can’t help but laugh as well. “Hey, at least I don’t do the shit I sell. Then I would be as fucked up as most of my customers and boy, would I be in some trouble.”

Vic nods in agreement. “Clean and selling is better than being a junkie and using more shit than you’re selling.”

“Exactly my philosophy. Besides, it would break my mom’s heart enough to hear that I sell drugs, it would totally crush her to find out I was doing them as well. Might as well let her rest a little better at night.”

“Hey dude, be glad your mom even cares. I’d fucking kill for a set of parents that gave a fuck about what I do. Hell, I’d fucking kill for a set of parents in general. You’re lucky as fuck,” Vic says.

“And I am thankful for my mom. She cares, and I’m sorry to hear that your parents don’t. I’m sure that if my mom met you she’d adopt you on the spot. Anybody she can cook for,” Tony jokes.

While Andy continues to fondle shirts, the pair exchange stories about their time on the wrong side of the tracks, and as it turns out, Tony had once been mixed up in a gang. He just barely managed to get out, handing over a large portion of his drugs to the leader and all of the cash he was carrying on his person, which turns out to be quite a lot.

“I still don’t know why they let me off that easy. One girl, Erica, had to have the living shit beat out of her to get out. Scary as fuck, man, and I was sure they were gonna do that to me.”

Vic lets out a low whistle. “I don’t really think our gang is big enough to get people kicked out, ya know? There’s only four of us that do the actual dirty work, the rest are just connections.”

“Holy shit, that’s small. How do you guys manage to make such a big name for yourselves? And don’t be shocked, of course I’ve fucking heard of you guys. Jewelry store last Monday. One of my customers co-owns the place.” Tony says in response to the look on Vic’s face, which is an amusing mixture of shock and confusion.

“Tactics, I guess. Andy, that fucker over there, makes sure everyone can shoot a gun well, we plan on getting caught, we keep low profiles, and we don’t do stupid flamboyant shit... It’s not that complicated. We don’t purposely start stuff.”

Tony nods. “That is pretty smart. The gang I was in before was all about the attention. They did some really dumb stuff that nearly got us caught on a weekly basis.”

“Well hey, if you ever need some company and an adrenaline rush, you can always hang out with us. Not saying you have to do anything, you can if you want, but if you ever want company that is more entertaining than those scene queens, we’re always available,” Vic proposes, a little on the spot, but from what he’s learned so far, Tony appears to be pretty cool, and pretty reliable.

Tony seems to ponder the rather spontaneous offer for a moment, before responding. “Fuck it. Hell yeah. So do you guys have an initiation or some shit? The gang I was in did, and if I have to do some shit like that again, I’m out.”

“Don’t worry, there’s not really anything you have to do. Making sure Andy likes you is enough,” Vic says, gesturing to his friend.

“Ah. I see. He’s one of those Alpha-Wolf types isn’t he?” Tony asks, eyes tearing apart every fraction of Andy’s appearance, searching for details about his personality and life from what’s visible.

Vic chuckles. “You have no idea. I think there’s only one person on this planet that can talk him into things, and that would be Oli, who is currently eating the entire food court.”

Tony grins. “I’m always up for a challenge. I refuse to believe he’s more difficult than some of my customers. Those people can bitch and complain about anything and everything, and it’s only until you remind them that you have possession of the substance that owns their soul that they drop to their knees and start begging.”

“I like that description,” Vic muses. “Anyway,” He continues, “When Andy finishes having a fangirl attack, you should clock out or whatever and hang out with us. You’re cool and the universe can get boring.”

“Sure thing. All these scene kids make me want to shoot myself after a while anyway,” Tony replies, sending a look that could kill to a girl with her back turned to them that has majorly over-teased blonde and rainbow hair paired with a neon Hello Kitty clip and kandi bracelets up and down her arms.

It’s right around then that Andy walks up to the register, three shirts in hand, a look of pure excitement on his face.

While Tony is ringing him up, Vic decides the best approach to this would to be extremely blunt and perhaps throw a small sense of humor in there.

“Hey Andy, ask Tony for some heroin,” Vic says, leaning against the counter so he’s got a full view of Andy and Tony’s faces.

Tony grins widely, while Andy looks at Vic like he’s lost his mind. Cautiously, he turns to Tony.

“You got any heroin?” He asks, looking at Vic with the most questioning look Vic thinks has ever seen, or that anyone’s ever given him.

“Yeah, but I can’t give it to you here. You gotta give me a blowjob first, then we’ll talk prices,” Tony pretends, feigning complete seriousness, finally cracking and laughing as the look of shock and confusion heightens on Andy’s face.

“Victor Fuentes, what in the hell?” Andy demands, tucking his wallet back into his jeans.

“Well, Tony here is a drug dealer. He’s pretty cool, if I do say so myself, and I think he’d be a nice addition to our little group, if you catch my drift. Don’t worry, he just sells, doesn’t do the shit. Opinion?” Vic proposes.

Andy looks at Tony for a second, then to Vic, then back to Tony, before nodding. “Not everyone is brave enough to make a blowjob-for-drugs joke. Welcome to our little group. Try not to get yourself killed.”

Tony grins, says his thanks and assures that he’ll do his best to stay alive, before shouting at another employee that he’s leaving and hopping over the counter.   

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Kellin is being indecisive as fuck and it’s visibly pushing Frank’s tolerance. Instead of picking a flavor of ice cream, Kellin’s just fliting shamelessly with the cashier.  Eventually, Frank heaves a sigh and elbows his friend in the ribs, causing Kellin to throw his hand over his side and bit his lip to keep from groaning in pain. Frank smiles at the cashier and orders for themselves, deciding that Kellin won’t be ordering anytime soon.

“My friend will have cookie dough, small, bowl please, and I’ll take a small vanilla cone,” Frank says.  Kellin scrunches up his face up and glares at Frank.

“Meanie,” He mutters under his breath, just loud enough for Frank to hear.

“Put a lid on it,” Frank bites back.

Once they have their ice cream, they go and sit back down. Frank shakes his head at Kellin.

“What is it with you and your need to flirt with everything that looks at you?” He asks. Kellin simply shrugs and spooned some ice cream into his mouth.

“I don’t flirt with  _everything_  that looks at me. In my defense, they usually look first.  _Then_  I flirt.”

Frank rolls his eyes.

“If I paid you money, would you flirt with a dude?” It’s a relatively innocent question, and Frank is merely curious at the extent of his friend’s flirtatious ways.  

“Hell, you don’t need to pay me for that. I’d gladly do it for free,” Kellin says, now scoping out the food court for a suitable target.

Frank laughs. “Dude, I was joking. You don’t have to.”

“Fine, take away all my fun,” Kellin says dismally, pouting a little and returning his attention to his ice cream.

Abruptly, Frank feels funny. It only lasts for a second, but he knows that he’s being watched. As always, he refuses to make eye contact and/or look around for whoever’s watching him. Over the years, he has managed to perfect the talent of telling when someone’s watching him, drawing experience from all the times that he’s seen various adults watch him when he was on the swing set at the children’s park down the road from his house, earbuds jammed in his ears, drowning out the world and the cheers of the little children, lost in the motion of the swing.

“Dude. Blond boy, two tables behind us and to my right, staring at you like you’re a Greek god,” Kellin says, flicking his glance up once, twice, and then shifting it back quickly to Frank.

Frank’s heart speeds up minutely. He doesn’t think it’s possible, not really. The chances of the person staring at him now being the same boy from last night were low, so very, very low... but he’s got this tiny spark of hope...

“Give me a basic description,” Frank says.

“Okay... Um, taller than you by the looks of it, but that’s not much of an accomplishment, his hair is bleached so much it’s practically white, hazel eyes I think, I can’t really tell from here, he’s pale as fuck... Why, ring a bell?” Kellin asks.

“Yeah.... he sounds a lot like the boy from last night...” Frank says, his hopes increasingly climbing upward.

“Dude, really? Seriously?” Kellin questions Frank, doubting Frank only a tiny bit.

Frank nods. “I’m...I’m pretty sure, you know, considering all I’m going off of right now is your description.”

Kellin grins. “So what are we gonna do to get his attention?”

Frank shrugs. “I honestly don’t know. Maybe it’d just be easier if we let him be.”

Somehow, Kellin’s grin gets even wider.

“Oh, we’re going to talk to him. But don’t worry your pretty little head, I’ve got a plan.”

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While they make their way to the food court, Andy and Vic give Tony the best run-down that they can of what to expect with Gerard and Oli.  They’ve never really had to do this before, so everything is rather impromptu.

“Oli can be quick with his anger, especially if you hurt someone he cares about. Like a while back somebody called Gerard a faggot and it took all three of us to stop Oli before he killed the guy. He’s better with a knife than a gun, but likes using a gun because it works faster. Also, he tends to get really pissy and whiny when he’s hungry. That’s about it for Oli... Andy? Wanna tell him about Gerard?” Vic says, dropping his end of the conversation and indicating that Andy should pick it up and continue on.

“Gerard is extremely shy and has pretty bad anxiety.  It takes him a really long time to warm up to people, to have trust in them. He’s the same as Oli, he’ll kill you without a second thought if you mess with someone he cares about. One of his only faults is that he cares a little too much about pedestrians being caught in the crossfire, and he’s  always checking to make sure nobody that isn’t gang-associated got hurt. The kid can kill you with one shot, unless he feels like making you suffer first, in which case, he’s fucking ruthless,” Andy concludes.

Tony nods. “I can handle that. A lot less violent than the larger portion of my clients. I nearly had to get one of my friends who’s in an underground street fighting club thing to hold the worst of them off.”

“People are nuts, man, they’ll do anything to get their hands on whatever they think they can’t live without,” Vic says, shaking his head.

“That is all too true,” Tony agrees.

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“HEY YOU! BLONDIE!” Kellin shouts across the food court, standing on his chair. Frank stands up a little and smacks Kellin on the arm, as if that can get him to sit down and stop yelling, and after his attempt proves to be in vain, he slinks back down into his own chair.

“ _This_  was your plan?” Frank asks, sliding a hand down his face in exasperation.

“Shut up, this plan is brilliant,” Kellin says, looking down at Frank before he resumes yelling at the boy. “YEAH YOU. I’M TALKING TO  _YOU_ , DAMMIT. C’MERE,” Kellin shouts, earning the pair dirty looks.

A girl with dark blue hair shouts back at Kellin. “SHUT YOUR WHORE MOUTH. I WANT TO EAT IN PEACE.”

Kellin calmly responds with a middle finger in her direction, while Gerard and his friend stand (or at least Frank hopes it’s Gerard, otherwise things are about to get really, unnecessarily awkward), a look on Gerard’s face that could be classified as something between hostility and curiosity, the look on his friend’s face pure, unadulterated aggression.

Frank can hear his heartbeat pound in his ears as Gerard comes closer, and there’s no doubt about it that this is him.

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Holy shit.  _Holy_  shit. Holy motherfucking  _shit_.

He’s actually seeing Frank again. Gerard had hoped that he would, but he knew that the probability was drastically low and that he more than likely wouldn’t come into contact with Frank again. Now, now he has, there Frank is, lip ring and all, smiling shyly while shooting a death glare at the boy still standing on his chair.

He feels Oli put a hand on his shoulder. “Stay with me, Gee,” Oli mutters, leaning in close to Gerard’s ear.

Frank’s friend hops off of his chair and steals two more from another table nearby. He sets them down next to the ones that he and Frank were already seated at, still standing, leaning in and muttering something to Frank.

“Alright, give me one reason not to shoot you right now,” Oli growls, pushing his finger into Kellin’s chest.

“Ooh, demanding. Me likey. You wanna take this somewhere more private big boy?” Kellin says, biting his lip and making obvious bedroom eyes at Oli. 

“Kellin, sit your whore ass down and  _stop flirting with every-fucking-body_. I apologize for my friend’s stupid face. You can, ah, sit down, if you want?” Frank says, reaching across the table to yank Kellin’s wrist and pull him into his chair.

Gerard smiles, a very small, very nervous smile, and Frank thinks it’s adorable.  

“It’s alright. C’mon Oli, sit down, resist the urge to strangle him. Please,” Gerard says, tacking on the ‘please’ as a hopeful bartering chip. Oli huffs and then reluctantly sits down in the chair next to Kellin, Gerard taking the one next to Frank.

“Fancy meeting you here, in a fucking food court of all places,” Frank says, turning to Gerard and giving him a little smile of his own.

“Yeah,” Gerard says, just barely above a whisper. Frank notices that Gerard’s hands are a little on the shaky side and that his eyes are darting around the room, and Frank can’t help but wonder if he’s got some sort of anxiety disorder, but his theories are interrupted by Kellin speaking again.

Oli has kept glowering at Kellin, who’s eating the rest of his ice cream, minding his own business for the most part and occasionally looking up at Oli.

“Okay, Blondie, get your friend to stop giving me death glares. I’m just trying to eat my goddamn ice cream and he just keeps  _looking_  at me like he either wants kinky sex or to slit my throat, and right now I’m not really up for either,” Kellin says. Gerard chuckles.

“You can stop calling me blondie, by the way. My name is Gerard. And Oli, seriously, he did me a  _huge_  favor. Stop it.”

Oli mutters something inaudible and shoots Kellin one last glare before falling silent.

It’s not very long before all four boys are absorbed in conversation, ranging from the teachers they hate the most (upon discovery that they go to the same school) to the best way to talk a llama into eating ham (what can Kellin say, Napoleon Dynamite made him laugh really hard).

Gerard visibly tenses when three other boys approach them. Oli takes note of his friend’s suddenly tensed posture and turns his head around slightly, and when his gaze finds the trio approaching them, he grins.

Kellin looks at Frank, trying to communicate with his eyes and various facial expressions ‘I am both terrified of approaching cute boy and  _approaching cute boy holy motherfucking shit_.’

Frank just smiles and shakes his head. When Gerard turns to face the oncoming entourage, his back now turned to Frank, he wiggles a pen free from his pocket and hurriedly scribbles his number down on a napkin, much to Kellin’s silent pleasure.

“Gee, Oli, we gotta go, okay?” The tall one with blue eyes says. “And uh... You... tall-lanky-skinny-girl-thing...Stop eye fucking my friend, okay, it’s really weird when we’re in a public space.”

“Huh?” Kellin says, tearing his gaze away from the tanned boy in front of him. He sighs heavily. “I guess I will, but only because you have pretty eyes.”

Once more Frank has to apologize for Kellin’s antics. The boys accept the apology, the boy with the blue eyes waving it off with a hand gesture. Gerard and Oli stand, and Frank asks Gerard for a quick hug, slipping the napkin with his number on it into Gee’s jacket pocket as discreetly as he can.

When they pull apart, Gerard gives him a wave goodbye in a smile, and Kellin grabs Frank and gives him a loud, smacking kiss on the cheek.

“I’m so proud of you! Look at you, gonna get that dick!” Kellin says.

“Shut up Kellin,” Frank bites back, wiping at his cheek.

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“I feel like that was a day productively wasted. You know, if that makes sense,” Frank says as they exit the mall, about half an hour after they had parted ways with the other boys.

“I agree completely. Never have I ever had so much fun in my life,” Kellin replies, grinning at the memory of the adventure in Victoria’s Secret. That was probably one of the most brilliant plans ever concocted. 

“And what are the chances that Gerard was going to be there? Next to none, right? I’m telling you Kells, the universe is trying to get us together.”

“That, and his Mexican friend is really fucking hot,” Kellin says.

“Seriously, where did this sudden desire to fuck everything on two legs come from?” Frank says, turning to Kellin and giving him the most questioning look he can manage.

“Since I slept in the bathtub like Ke$ha. It’s like my spirit connected with her and suddenly I wanted to fuck everything.”

Frank reaches up and smacks Kellin upside the head, hopefully removing that shit-eating grin. It didn’t, if anything, the smack amplified it.

Kellin laughs and breaks into a run.

The pair races around the corner, Frank close behind Kellin and shouting things ranging from “that’s right, you better run motherfucker” to “do you lose feeling in your dick running in those jeans?”

Frank lives a walking distance from the mall, so they wind up racing back to Frank’s house.

Once they get inside, the collapse on the couch in laughter, Frank gaining just enough energy to shift over and smack Kellin again. 

“But still, he was really cute,” Kellin says.

“Get some sleep, you delusional fucker,” Frank replies, pulling Kellin up from the couch and pushing him in the direction of the bedroom, knowing full well that attempting to sleep in bathtubs tended to not work at all.

“Only if you cuddle with me,” Kellin says with a pout.

Frank rolls his eyes so hard he thinks he pops a blood vessel. “Fine,” He relents. “But only for a little while.”

“Yay!” Kellin chirps, and Frank kind of wonders why he ever wanted to be friends with this weirdo in the first place.

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The ride back in Andy’s truck lacks music this time. It’s been replaced with conversation, questions and stories being exchanged between the four other boys and Tony.

When Gerard sticks his hands in his pockets, they’re met with the roughish texture of a napkin. Curiously, he pulls it out and reads the scrawled message.

Dammit, his pulse is doing the uppy thing again. He  _seriously_  needs to either stop letting things get to him or get some fucking anxiety medication or some shit. This shit is  _tiring_.

“It’s just a series of numbers, Gee, get a fucking grip,” He whispers to himself. Nonetheless, he can’t help but have to suppress a girlish squeal of excitement. God, he’s borderline pathetic.  

“Is that his number?” Oli whispers, nudging Gerard’s leg with his own. Gerard nods and smiles.

“You two would be cute together,” Vic throws in. Damn him and his excellent hearing.

“Who?” Andy asks, glancing back at his friends in the rearview mirror.

“Gerard and that short kid with the lip ring from the mall,” Oli replies. Gerard’s face turns a slight shade of pink, and he smacks Oli’s arm. Andy laughs.

“Oh hell yeah. Gee, you should give him a call, set up a date.”

“Andy... You know how this could turn out. If things go well...Too well... it could end up like you and Juliet,” Gerard says quietly, looking at his hands and rubbing the corner of the napkin between his fingers.

Andy tenses at that, his knuckles going white on the steering wheel.

“Yeah, okay. I get it. Still though, give him a call, you never know. It might be worth the risk.”

Gerard nods in agreement, putting the napkin back in his pocket. Tony shoots him a grin and a thumbs up, and Gerard replies with an equally silent small, hesitant smile.

Maybe Tony isn’t so bad. It’s not like Gerard doubts him, he’s just naturally nervous that Tony’s going to be loud and cocky and not anywhere near understanding. But if Vic likes him... Well... He can’t be that bad at all.  

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“Did you hear that Frankie? She  _waited_  for him,” Kellin says, shoving more popcorn into his mouth and talking around the mouthful. They’ve decided to watch some shitty romance movies, curled up on the couch, making fun of the stereotypical plotlines and shooting suction cup Nerf darts at the screen whenever the couple kissed.

“Ew ew ew ew!” Frank shouts as he peppers the screen with foam darts.

“Get a life you fucking whore!” Kellin yells as he throws popcorn at the screen.

The sounds of people sucking face are abruptly drowned out by a loud metal guitar solo, and Frank swears.

“Fuck,” Frank says, fishing around in his pocket before he pulls out his phone, making a confused face. “I don’t recognize this number... should I answer it?”

Kellin pauses the TV and nods eagerly. “It could be Gerard, answer it!”

Frank takes a few deep breaths and accepts the call.

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Gerard hopes that Frank will hurry and pick up before Gerard passes out. He is  _so_  nervous, so fucking ridiculously nervous.

“Deep breaths, you fuck,” Gerard mutters to himself. “It’s a phone call, just a phone call.”

He releases a breath that he didn’t know he was holding when Frank answers with an equally nervous tone.

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Three hours later, they have a date set up for a week from then at a quiet little café on the other side of town. When Frank finally gets off the phone, Kellin attacks him with questions.

“WHEN HOW WHERE ANSWER ME IERO!” He shouts all at once.

Frank laughs. “Calm down, Mr. Lonely. We’re going to a coffee shop on the other side of town a week from now.”

Despite his best efforts to remain calm, Kellin throws popcorn at Frank.

“You little shit, now you’re gonna be with him all the time and leave me all alone with crappy movies and a quart of ice cream,” He sniffles. “You don’t love me do you?”

Frank rolls his eyes and launches himself at Kellin, tackling him in a bear hug.

“I love you, you fucking bathtub sleeping whore. I promise I won’t be ditching you just because I get some dude to make out with. If we’re lucky, we can find  _you_  a dude. Or a chick. Whatever lifts your skirt.”

“I want that Mexican boy to lift my skirt.”

“Will you stop that and turn the movie back on?”

Kellin sighs heavily. “I  _guess_.”

And the room is consumed once again in noise, the yells of teenage boys protesting romance movies and the smell of popcorn reaching the ceiling and filling the room to the brim and beyond.

Kellin won’t be alone, Frank won’t leave him, ever.

For once in his life, Kellin can trust someone not to leave him.

 

He quite likes this feeling. 


	5. Chapter 5

“Guess who’s got a date?” Gerard says as he walks back into the living room of Vic’s house, their chosen hangout spot for the rest of the day.

“If the answer is you, I will kiss Oli,” Andy says, looking at Gerard with a mixture of doubt and suspicion.

“Pucker up, bitch,” Oli replies, the look on Gerard’s face giving it all away.

Andy’s jaw drops, practically hitting the floor. “For serious? You actually managed to ask him out and not pass out in the process?”

 Any further statements were muffled by Oli’s lips as he jumps on Andy and presses a quick kiss to his mouth, nearly cackling with amusement at the look of discontent on Andy’s face when they part.  

“Gross gross gross, you fuck. Would it kill you to stop taking every damned thing I say seriously?”

“Yes. I would die. And you would be to blame,” Oli replies, turning his attention back to the blond who had joined the group in the floor, sitting with his legs crossed next to Tony.

“But seriously? You’ve got a date with Lip Ring Boy?” Andy asks.

“Yes, I seriously do, and his name is Frank,” Gerard says with a smile.

“Aw, look at that! Our Gee’s got a crush!” Vic teases.

“Shut the fuck up,” Gerard mutters.

“I’m bored,” Oli whines, interrupting any further conversation by dramatically collapsing forward in a pile on the floor.

“You’re always bored. Besides, we can’t really do much until the buzz about the fight dies down,” Gerard says, reaching out to pat his friend on the head.

“We should do something though. You all know what happens if I stay bored for too long,” Oli says, the borders between a statement and a threat a little unclear.

Tony shoots Vic look of confusion, to which Vic responds with a brief explanation of what his friend means.

“If he stays bored for too long we all become human beanbag chairs. Or Santa. Depends, really.”

Taking Vic’s response as a cue, Oli crawls across the room and sits in Gerard’s lap, throwing his arms around his neck.  

“Santa, I want a puppy. And a pony. And infinite cupcakes,” He says, and Gerard reaches up and pats him on the head again.

“Hey, we could go to that movie theater on the other side of town. You know, the one that’s open at ungodly hours and is nearly always empty, no matter what movie is showing?” Tony proposes, and Oli’s face lights up like someone’s flipped a light switch on.

“Andy, I wanna go see a movie. Please?” He asks, drawing out the vowels. “When was the last time we all went out and did something actually legal together and none of us separated? The answer is  _never_. Please?” Oli begs again, continuing to draw out the vowels in the word ‘please’.

Andy looks at Oli like he’s insane.

“If you say no I will shove my tongue down your throat,” Oli threatens.

At that, Andy scoots away from Oli and ducks behind the much shorter Vic, using him as a human shield.

“Yes! Sure! Fine! Whatever! Just don’t tongue fuck my throat!”

Oli releases a cackle of a laugh and throws his arms into the air in victory.

“I win! Let’s go!” Oli shouts, jumping to his feet and bounding towards the door.

“Wait a second, we should wait for Mike to get home, and we should probably mention to Gee’s little bro where we’re going. Maybe see if they want to come,” Vic says, his parental instincts kicking in, and Gerard nods.

“Half an hour Oli, you can do it,” Gerard says. Oli shakes his head.

“No, no I can’t,” He disagrees.

So, for the next half hour, all the boys take turns being human beanbag chairs and/or Santa. Since Oli is not particularly pleased with Andy, he gets the worst of it, Oli burrowing into Andy’s chest and leaning into him so much he nearly knocks Andy over.

“What are you? A human cat?” Andy asks, one arm around the boy in his lap and the other behind the pair, trying to keep them up.

“Yes. I am a vengeful cat. This is my revenge. Tremble in fear, mere human,” Oli says, his voice muffled by the fabric of Andy’s shirt.

Thankfully, Vic’s brother walks into the house at that minute, slamming the front door loudly and saving Andy form any more potential torture.

“Going to the theater on the other side of town, you in?” Vic calls into the kitchen, undoubtedly where his younger sibling is.

The boy comes into view, a partially eaten sandwich in hand. He scans the room quickly and gestures to Oli, who is still comfortably situated in Andy’s lap.

“Didn’t get his way did he?” He says, taking a bite from the sandwich.

“Nope. We made him wait till you were home so we could let you know where we were going,” Vic replies. Mike nods.

“Explains... _that_.” Mike says, gesturing to the curled up ball that is Oli claiming Andy for temporary chair purposes.  Andy raises his arms in an “I don’t know” gesture, one he’s all too familiar with when it comes to Oli.

“Anyway, coming?” Vic continues. Mike shoves the rest of the sandwich unceremoniously into his mouth and replies with a plain ‘sure’.

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The task of informing Mikey Way of their whereabouts involves the restraint and/or slight evasion of Pete Wentz. Easier said than done, so they have learned.

Andy currently has the boy held off the ground by at least two feet, a firm grip on his shoulders. Pete has stopped struggling by now, and the protests and foul language have slowed to a minimum.

For some unknown reason, Pete absolutely hates Gerard and his friends. He’s always sending them dirty looks, protesting both physically and verbally when they show up to take Mikey home or tell him where they’re going. Vic has never really understood why he felt the need to put up such a fuss.

Oh right. They’re wanted criminals.

“You wanna come with us?” Gerard asks, ignoring Pete’s renewed protests, this time saying something about guilt by association and how many people they’ve killed.

To both Mikey and Mike, their brothers are still their brothers, and they’ll never once be anything less. No matter how much blood sheds because of them, no matter if billions of dollars are stolen by their hands, they’re still family, and with family, you are _always_  willing to overlook everything.

“Sure. Mike coming?” Mikey asks, leaning over the couch to grab his jacket.

“MICHAEL JAMES WAY DO NOT LISTEN TO THIS LYING, GOOD-FOR-NOTHING CRIMINAL AND HIS ‘FRIENDS’! THEY WILL SUCK YOU INTO A LIFE OF CRIME AND-” Pete shouts, stopping and choosing to resume thrashing in Andy’s grip.

“OH FOR GOD’S SAKE SHUT  _UP_  WENTZ!” The usually peaceful Gerard shouts, causing Pete to fall into a stunned silence and Mikey to flinch.

“Sorry, sorry, he’s just  _really_  getting on my nerves. Let’s go before I pop a cap in his ass,” Gerard says as he spins on his heel and heads out the door.

Andy carries Pete over to the couch and drops him on it, Pete scrambling to get up and catch them before they’re out the door.

They are gone before Pete can even stand.

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The theater is dark and cold and everything but sanitary. It doesn’t exactly matter though, the guy at the counter was one of Tony’s customers and let them in for half price.

No one had really paid attention to what movie was showing, they just claimed the theater as theirs and began stuffing their faces with the popcorn, talking over the commercials until the film started.

Within the first fifteen minutes of the movie, they’re no longer alone in the theater.  Andy had been cautiously glancing behind his shoulder at the group of people that had entered, occasionally nudging Oli and whispering to him.

It’s not long after that that Vic and Gerard move to either side of their siblings Vic in front of Andy, Gerard in front of Oli, tense with guns loaded and ready.  Oli leans over and tells Tony quickly what to do, which is the basic ‘get down when we say get down’.

“Let them make the first move,” Andy whispers roughly. He leans back in his seat and puts his legs up on the seat in front of him, meaning that his legs are over Vic’s shoulders, and he continues to eat his popcorn.

Mike shifts a glance at Mikey, who’s leaning into his brother, as always. Mike nudges Mikey’s foot with his own, and when Mikey looks up at him he mouths ‘you okay?’

Mikey simply shakes his head no.

Flickering his gaze around, Mike tries to find the cause of Mikey’s tensions. The movie on the screen isn’t scary at all, it’s some animated Disney shit... The rest of their crew is right behind them, in fact, Andy’s legs are resting on Vic’s shoulders.... What could it...  _oh_.

At the back of the theater, there’s a group of about seven guys and a couple girls (or really girly looking guys, he can’t exactly tell) with their eyes trained on them.

So that’s why Vic and Gee had moved down here next to them.

“Dammit Vic,” Mike hisses at his brother. A single glimpse at him and Vic realizes that Mike knows the potential danger around him, and that they’re waiting for the other gang to make the first move, if they so choose.

“I know. So much for keeping our heads down,” Vic whispers back.

Mike shakes his head and leans back in his seat, watching the movie and bracing himself for gunfire or some other form of mayhem.

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An hour has now passed since the other people had entered the theater. They have kept their distance and haven’t said a single word to any of the boys, which is setting everyone on edge.  

Andy had had Tony check twice to see if he knew any of the other people, and he didn’t. Something that didn’t happen too often, he had said.

Basically, if any of these people wanted to start shit, they are beyond fucked. It’s always better to know who you’re up against, because you can track their weak spots, know who’s got an attachment to who, make sure to get them where it really hurts.  Not knowing anything, you would just let the bullets fly and wouldn’t even cause any emotional damage, the worst kind of damage and most definitely the kind that lasts the longest.

It doesn’t matter now though, the house lights are coming up and the tension in the air has risen so high a plane couldn’t even pass above it.

Andy stands first, followed by Oli. Gerard and Vic stay seated, waiting for the all clear, turned around slightly in their seats, guns loaded and ready.

Just as Andy is about to get to the door, one of the other people jumps up and pushes him back a few paces.

Immediately, Oli pulls his gun and aims it point-blank at the other boy’s head. Vic and Gerard jump up too, pushing their brothers out of the way of any potential crossfire. Their guns drawn and all pointed at the boy who had pushed Andy.  The boy holds his hands up, as if he’s surrendering.

“Woah there boys, I don’t want anything but to talk to Andy here,” He says. Oli glares at him sharply and suspiciously and keeps his gun up, gesturing to Gerard and Vic to lower theirs.

Andy sizes the boy up. He has feminine features that are overridden by the lack of a shirt, the only thing covering his torso being a leather jacket, open just enough so that you can see a tattoo that runs across his lower abdomen. The boy is quite a bit shorter than Andy, about the same height as Gerard, with a build the exact opposite of Andy’s thinner, lankier frame. His muscles are much more defined and his shoulders are wider, broader set.

“My name is Ashley Purdy, and if you say that Ashley is a girl’s name I will punch you in the face,” He says, feigning dominancy even though he’s a good handful of inches shorter than Andy.

“Alright then, whadda ya want?” Oli spits from behind Andy.  Andy raises a hand, indicating that Oli should fucking cool it.

“Keep talking,” Andy says, interested.  

“I wanna propose a joining of our gangs. Yours is quite small, and mine has bigger numbers, but hasn’t got a big name yet. Hell, we don’t even have any enemies.  They’re good guys, well, and gals, can shoot pretty well and are masters in the art of lying.  They just need a more dependable leader. You.”

Andy stands there for a moment, pondering his answer. Oli tenses even more, if that’s even possible.

“Why? Why do you want this? How do we know you’re not trying to take us out?” Oli says through gritted teeth.

“He’s got a point. Why, Ashley?” Andy asks, swatting his hand backwards without taking his eyes off of Ashley, grabbing Oli’s hip and pinching it.

“Ow, motherfucker,” Oli hisses.

“Lower the damned gun, idiot,” Andy says, not taking his eyes off of Ashley. Oli mutters a few swear words, but lowers his gun to his side, posture still tense, eyes ablaze with fight.

“Like I said, you guys are pretty small in numbers. Can’t be easy carrying out missions like that.”

“Contrary to popular belief, it’s easier. Less people to worry about.”

“But that fight couldn’t have been easy. You were a bigger liability, less people to cover ground with.”

“True, true. But we rarely get in fights.”

“Even so, wouldn’t hurt to have more people. Think of it, you could carry out multiple missions at once.”

Andy crosses his arms and rocks back on his heels.

“Give me a week. Meet us at the kiddy park off of the highway at, eh, nine P.M. ish,” Andy says. He throws one quick signal at his friends and they all exit the theater, Oli and Andy waiting for the other five to catch up to them, Gerard and Vic sticking to their brothers as if one wrong move could take them away forever.

Which is a very high risk that they all run.

 

And that is the painful reality gnawing on the inside of their hearts.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

It is nearly eight AM and Vic is already beyond done with his brother’s bullshit.  For the twelfth time that morning (so he had been counting, don’t judge) Vic had to attempt to drag his sorry ass out of bed.

“MIKE. UP. NOW,” Vic yells, pounding on his brother’s bedroom door. “IF YOU AREN’T UP IN THREE MINUTES I AM WALKING IN THERE AND LITERALLY DRAGGING YOU OUT OF BED,” He threatens.

His brother’s only response is a muffled, unintelligible groan. Vic leaves one more pound on the door that rattles the entire frame and stalks downstairs, only to be greeted with an all too familiar sight.

 The radio is blasting, people’s loud, off-key voices mingling in with the music, the sound of cookware clanking together.

This had become a ritual a while back, not very long after Vic’s parents... Well. He doesn’t really like to talk about it. Anyway, point is, the guys had made a habit of showing up in the mornings to help Vic cook and drag Mike out of bed. Tony had adapted to the idea quickly once Oli told him about it, happy to help Vic out.

“And I thought I had hid the key well enough,” Vic chuckles, walking into the kitchen and leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Obviously not, you little shit. Tryna keep us out, huh? Tired of my  _fabulous_  cooking?” Oli says, flicking some of the pancake batter at Vic. 

Vic laughs and wipes the batter off of his nose. “Yeah, goddammit. You guys are like fuckin’ herpes. Can’t get rid of you.”

Laughter circulates comfortably around the room, Oli faking shock and pressing a hand to his chest in mock offense.

“Did you just compare me to  _herpes_? Really, Victor? I thought you were above such low,  _low_  insults,” Oli says.

“Obviously, he’s not,” Tony comments, earning a glare and some hand gestures from Vic.

“Alright, alright. Calm the fuck down. No one needs to be drawing their guns before noon. Is the monster upstairs?” Andy asks, referring to Mike.

“Yup,” Vic replies, taking plates out of the cabinet and putting them on the kitchen island.

“Be back in five,” Andy says as he heads toward the staircase.  Gerard shakes his head.

“I think Mike secretly likes being man-handled by Andy,” Gerard observes, just as Andy tromps downstairs with Mike thrown over his shoulder like a fireman. Mike is uselessly pounding his fists against Andy’s back, Andy ignoring Mike’s resistance and he roughly throws Mike onto the couch.

“Did anybody order a useless pile of shit?” Andy announces, gesturing to Mike. 

“Hey,” Mike protests, rubbing his eyes sleepily. “I’m not useless.”

“So you admit to be a pile of shit then?”

“Kiss my ass, Biersack.”

Laughter floods the room again.

“C’mon Mike, Andy, stop flirting and come eat,” Vic calls.

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“Now all Oli needs is an apron and he’ll be the perfect housewife,” Andy says as he stuffs his face full of pancake.

“Thanks babe,” Oli says as he leans down and kisses Andy’s cheek.

“Gross, goddammit, what is it with you and kissing me?” Andy says, wiping blindly at his face.

Oli shrugs. “To be honest, you bring it on yourself.”

“Ladies, ladies, ladies, you’re both pretty, now eat. You’ve got fifteen minutes ‘til school.” Tony says. He’s only going to be accompanying them to school, seeing as he had dropped out a year or two ago. The fact that he’s no longer enrolled in school doesn’t stop him from making sure the boys get a clear shot at education, however. If it hadn’t been for his mom’s lack of financial security, he would have graduated, but when his mom needed help bringing in extra money, he dropped out and got a job. Well, two, but you know.

“Andy, what are we gonna do about that Ashley kid?” Gerard asks, standing up from his stool and putting his plate on the counter.

“I’m still not sure about what to think. He could actually have good intentions, or he could be trying to overthrow us. What do you guys think we should do?” Andy replies, sitting back on his stool.

“I say we go for it.  If he’s trying to take us out we can just pop a cap in his ass,” Oli says.

“I love how you talk about shooting someone so casually,” Mike chimes in, standing up and getting his jacket, getting ready to leave for school, putting textbooks in his backpack in the next room over. 

“Shut up Mike. This is serious business. Not for whiny piles of shit,” Andy says, standing himself and stretching. Mike glowers at Andy, and if looks could kill, Andy would be more deceased than the frog some creepy wannabe Satanist kid nailed to the front door of the church two weeks ago.

“Vic, Gee, you in? Tony?” Andy asks, ruffling Mike’s hair when he sees the look Mike is trying to kill him with.

“Why the hell not?” Vic shrugs, and Gerard nods.

“If any of them are addicted to any form of anything I say no. Druggies are bad, bad, unreliable, lying, cheating, stealing people.  Acceptable?” Tony proposes, tapping his fingers against the table, looking at Andy with concern apparent on his face.

“Totally. So it’s settled. Our answer is yes?” Andy says, surveying the looks and postures around the room for any sign of a negative response. He breathes a sigh of relief when there are none and everyone seems compliant. It’s always harder when there’s a disagreement.

“Great. Let’s get going before we’re late.”

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“Bye Tony!” Andy calls. Tony gives a two finger mock salute and pulls out of the parking lot, Andy watching carefully until the vehicle is out of sight. Andy had given Tony permission to use the truck to make his rounds, trusting that it would be returned with a full tank of gas and in the condition it had left in.

The group enters the building, Mike separating nearly immediately, either because he doesn’t want to be seen with his brother or because one of his friends shouts his name extremely loudly and Mike is dragged away by said name-shouter before Vic can even get the word “bye” out of his mouth.

“Damn, how is that kid so popular?” Oli asks with a low whistle at the girls that are now surrounding Mike and his friends.

“If I knew, I’d tell you,” Vic replies with a shake of his head.  “C’mon. We’ve got class.”

They all separate in the directions of their classes, muttering their goodbyes, as always, just hardly loud enough for the others to hear.

Because goodbyes hurt, even if they’re only temporary.

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“How much?” The pudgy, balding man in an expensive suit asks, sweat forming on his brow. He produces his wallet, opening it and pulling out a wad of cash. He’s a regular customer, and this guy knows the drill better than pretty much anybody else.

“$550,” Tony replies, tugging impatiently on the strings of his hoodie. The man nods and counts the bills, handing Tony the larger portion.

“Thank you for your business sir. See you again,” Tony says cheerfully, putting the cash in the front pocket of his backpack.

Tony leans against the cool wall of the alleyway for a while, staring off into space and waiting for his next customer. It isn’t long before someone enters the alleyway. Tony puts on his “happy to see you even though I think you’re a piece of lying shit” smile and greets them, feigning cheerfulness.

“Price?” The guy asks. He has his hood obscuring his face, dark sunglasses over is eyes, face cast downward, voice obviously not used to talking in the tone or pitch its owner is using now. Tony forces himself to stay calm, this guy is giving him money. He needs to fucking stay calm, dammit, this guy probably doesn’t have a gun.

“What do you want?” Tony says, reaching down to his backpack.

“You got any cocaine?”

“Yeah man. How often do you use it? I sell by usage, not by ounce. Weird, I know.”

“Kinda. But like, twice a week?”

“Gotcha. $150. That’ll last you for about a month,” Tony says, producing a plastic baggy of the drug.

“Thanks,” The guy says quickly, handing Tony the money and taking the drugs, stuffing it into his pocket.

“Wait a second, I know you,” Tony says, stepping forward and grabbing the guy’s shoulder as he turns to leave the alley.

“No, you don’t,” The guy protests, trying to pry Tony’s hand off of his arm. Tony is persistent though, he keeps his grip firm and strong.

“Yeah, yeah I do. If I don’t, then prove it, take off the hood and glasses,” The guy sighs heavily, relaxing abruptly in Tony’s grip.

Slowly, he pushes off the hood and takes off the glasses.

Tony simultaneously feels his heart drop and his blood boil.

“ _Mike_?”

“Please don’t tell Vic, okay, it would crush him-”

“Why the fuck shouldn’t I?  _Cocaine_ , Mike, this shit fucks you over  _bad_. He has every right to know.”

“But you don’t understand! I hardly get any use out of it, it’s all my friends! Just please, c’mon, let me go, okay?”

They’re yelling, their voices sharp and painful against the cement walls, bouncing back and reverberating harshly in the enclosed area. Mike’s eyes are wide with both fear and regret, Tony’s aflame with anger and nothing more.

This, this is betrayal. Not only to Vic, but to Tony as well. That Mike would try to put Tony in the position to be beneath Vic’s fury is a whole new level of disloyalty. Mike had better fucking hope he listens to Tony from now on or he’s going to be skinned alive then and there.

“Nope. Not happening. You’re staying  _right here_  until I’m out and we go drop Andy’s truck off. Sit. Get comfy. We’ll talk about this in a bit.”

Mike dejectedly lets his back hit the wall with a heavy, deep thump, heaving a sigh and sliding to the dirty, grimy ground.

It’s only then that Tony notices the stray, silent tear that has left a track down Mike’s cheek.

“Hey,” Tony whispers, bending down and gently wiping the tear off with his thumb, “It’ll be okay.”

A nod is all he receives in return.

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 The only noise filling the truck is the sound of the engine, nothing else. No music. Just the hum of the engine and the occasional clicking of the turn signal.

Mike had stayed silent for the remainder of the day, occasionally looking up at the customers, sometimes at Tony, but for the largest portion of the day his gaze rested on the peeling and molding posters on the wall.  It hurts Tony, a lot. It’s hard enough selling to strangers, but when it’s someone he knew ( _someone he knew_. His best friend’s little brother for Christ’s sake) it feels like someone has tried to give him an appendectomy with a butter knife. 

 _Mike_ , of all people. He’s a good guy, he has so much going for him, and dammit if Tony had had the opportunities that Mike has right now he never would’ve even touched a cigarette or anything with alcohol in it, let alone started dealing drugs.

“So we need to talk about this,” Tony says as they pull into the parking lot. “We’ve got fifteen minutes ‘til school gets out. That’s enough time.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Mike grumbles, leaning his head against the window.

“Uh, yeah there is. You tried to buy – well,  _bought_  – cocaine from me. Why?” Tony says and cuts the engine, turning in the driver’s seat to face Mike, who is riding shotgun.

Mike shrugs. “Dunno. My friends and I do it sometimes. We were out, we needed more, I was the one that went and got it this time.”

“Who gave it to you the first time?”

“Some dude named Bert. Creepy fucker. But I was with other people, so it was okay,” Mike says. Tony snorts.

“Yeah,  _totally_  okay. Do you think you’re addicted?”

“No... Not really,” Mike replies, folding and unfolding his fingers in his lap. Tony breathes deeply and runs his hands through his hair.

“I’m not going to tell Vic, but on one condition,” Tony says. Mike’s face lights up in excitement, in relief, in every sort of jubilant way possible.

“Thank you, thank you, oh my god  _thank you_. What, what is it? Name it, and consider it done,” Mike falls back against the seat, breathing easily, his previous somber mood completely disappearing and being replaced with happiness.  

“Stop doing any form of drug you’ve been doing. And be honest when I ask.”

“Done. Thank you Tony, thank you so, so so so much, oh my god. I thought I was going to be disemboweled by Vic. Thank you, fuck, I can’t say it enough,” Mike says rapidly, leaning across the seat and pulling Tony into a tight hug, catching Tony by surprise and hardly giving him any time to properly react.

“Yeah, yeah. Now get in the backseat, school’s out in two minutes.”

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	7. Chapter 7

Ashley.

Ashley.

Ashley.

Andy tosses the name around in his head, letting the syllables merge together into meaningless noises.

 _Ashley Purdy_. His name sounds a little like a mentally handicapped redneck trying to describe someone relativity attractive named Ashley.

If he was going to be honest, Ashley  _is_  pretty attractive.

Dammit, Oli’s gay is starting to rub off on him.

He pulls his knees a little closer to his chest and stares blankly at the TV screen. The heavy feeling in his chest won’t leave.  He doesn’t like this, he doesn’t like being alone.

Should he call someone? No, that’d make him seem desperate. Andy curses under his breath and fumbles for a cigarette, the flame from the lighter mixing in with the blue glow from the TV.

Even breathing. He just has to concentrate on that. He’s fine, nothing can hurt him, and he should probably get some sleep.

Yeah. Sleep.

He finishes the cigarette and puts it in the ashtray, standing on shaky feet and making his way to his room, pausing for a minute outside his mother’s room and listening for a pause in her breathing, but there’s no inconsistencies. She’s okay.

Still shaking, Andy collapses onto his bed without a second thought, hoping that sleep will come quick and mercilessly.

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“Oh shit, Andy’s sixth sense is telling us something. What is it? Do you see dead people?” Oli says, gesturing wildly, leaning in closer to Andy.

“Yes, they’re telling me...They’re telling me to shove you down the stairs,” Andy says in mock seriousness, pressing two fingers to his temple and creasing his brow in feigned confusion.

“Stop it. Andy, what’s wrong?” Vic says, smacking Andy upside the head and swinging a side kick at Oli’s legs. 

“Just a little nervous about telling Ashley tonight I guess,” He says, staring at the ground.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. If anything goes wrong, we’ll kill them,” Gerard says, patting Andy’s shoulder.

The group is closely pressed together behind the bleachers, smoke thick in the air and voices low as to avoid detection. Oli had sent an SOS, saying his math teacher is a ‘fat old perverted cunt’, which is code for Oli hadn’t done the homework.

The haze of the smoke encircling them is hypnotizing, thick and dreary, cigarette after cigarette being smoked by Andy and Gerard, with the occasional stolen drag from Oli. The atmosphere itself is oozing adrenaline, they’re on the edge of their seats for tonight.

A children’s park, of all places. The epitome of innocence, and Andy had chosen to soil the ground with his blood-stained hands and guilty soul, but not only that, he’s bringing with him his accomplices, the equally guilty, his companions on the fast track to eternal damnation. 

The idea fascinates Gerard. He had shared this with Vic, whose eyes had blown wide and immediately he had scrambled for a pen and a scrap of paper and written it down, claiming that everything worth hearing should be saved. Gerard had simply shaken his head in a silent agreement.

The sun is slowly dragging itself across the sky, the final bell of the day breaking the otherwise silent air with its shrill ring. Anticipation is one of the only thing keeping the boys sane, and it’s going to be the only consistent factor in everything they’re going to do in the next seven hours.  

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Tony exhales roughly. What is he gonna do about Mike? He can’t just  _tell_  Vic, Mike is everything to Vic, the only reason he got up out of bed, and telling Vic that his precious baby brother is doing drugs and is more than likely addicted would be the only push he needs to fall off the cliff he’s teetering on.

A napkin etched with blue ink is the only form of plan he’s got. Tony hates the idea of keeping Vic in the dark, but it seems to be for the best. The hardest task is going to be getting Mike sober without being with him every waking moment, hell, even every unconscious moment. If Tony were to just randomly camp out with Vic and Mike for no apparent reason, it would raise suspicion, so he has to come up with some idea to never leave Mike alone.

The plan hits him like a much needed slap to the face.

 _Mikey Way_.

Tony searches around for his phone, knowing that Mikey’s number is already in there. Mikey had given it to Tony after the theater, saying he usually gives his number to Gerard’s friends in case Gerard does something stupid. Apparently this occurs more often than thought, but it makes sense, in a way. Gerard is always putting others first, even complete strangers.  His compassion is a fault and a strength in one; it can kill him or save him at any given moment.

Tony shoots a quick text at Mikey, telling him to meet him as soon as he can. When Mikey inquires, Tony simply says that he’ll explain as soon as they see each other. Mikey offers the cover story of help with schoolwork, and Tony agrees that that is a great excuse. Mikey sends one last text saying that he’ll see Tony soon, and Tony clicks his phone off and sets it on top of the blue-inked napkin.

He hopes that this will work. If it doesn’t, well, his pen isn’t yet out of ink and there are infinite napkins in the world still to be scribbled upon.

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Mikey meets Tony with a questioning and worried look.

“What’s up?” He asks, sitting on the couch next to Tony, concern radiating off of him.

“Okay, you have to help me, but you have to keep it a secret,” Tony says, facing Mikey the best he can and fiddling with the napkin.

“Y-yeah, I can do that,” Mikey replies, the worry increasing rapidly.

Tony breathes slowly, trying to stay calm.

“Mike’s gotten into drugs, some bad shit. He tried to buy from me the other day, but I stopped him. I told him I wouldn’t tell Vic, on the condition that he got clean and was honest with me about his usage. I know drug addicts Mikey, they’re liars and thieves. There’s no way in hell he’s going to be honest with me, and I can’t keep an eye on him every moment of the day. So I need you to. Watch him, try your hardest not to leave his side, and if possible, find out who got him addicted in the first place, because I want a word with that bastard. Could you do that?”

Mikey nods slowly. “I knew... I knew he had done stuff, but I didn’t think it was an addiction. Just, ‘Oh, I wanna look cool in front of my friends, here I’ll snort this line’ but not anything  _serious_. I can’t believe he was dumb enough to try to buy from you. Yeah, I’ll do it, and I’m pretty sure I know who got him into this stuff, but I’ll have to check and double check and blah blah blah just so I make sure I’m not pointing fingers at the wrong person.”

“Thank you, I owe you big time. Now get going before your brother offers to skin me alive,” Tony says as he pulls Mikey in for a hug.

“Anytime. See ya.”

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Mike grips the edge of the porcelain sink hard enough that either his fingers or the sink are going to break first. He’s trying, he is trying  _so_  hard. But he’s itching, an almost physical itch, a burn buried beneath his skin that can only be relieved by the drug he’d promised not to touch, and tears are slipping down his face, and Mike knows he’s shaking.

“Mike?” someone calls. He really doesn’t care who, he wants to die, he wants to punch somebody, he fucking can’t take it, he needs a fucking hit  _now_.

“Mike?” They call again, coming closer to the bathroom. The footsteps pause outside the bathroom door and they rap two of their knuckles against the wood.

“I’m going to come in,” They say. The door opens slowly.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright, Tony told me what’s going on, and I’m going to help, okay?” They say, moving forward and grabbing Mike by the shoulders.

“Mikey? What-”

That’s the only thing out of Mike’s mouth before Mikey’s fingers are latched around his wrist and Mikey’s dragging him out the door.

“We need to distract your brain. Get in the car.”

With no more than a questioning look, Mike gets in the passenger seat and slides the seatbelt across his chest, a smart move, he learns, as Mikey yanks the steering wheel violently to the right, causing the car to spin until the angle is to Mikey’s satisfaction to speed out of the driveway and down the road.

The windows are down and the music is blasting, and they’re speeding down the highway at beyond illegal levels, Mike forcing himself not to look at the speedometer and fear for his life. Car horns chase them as they speed, taking dangerous curves and passing cars going the legal limit in long lines.

 “Who knew,” Mike shouts over the roar of the wind and the thrum of the bass, “That Mikey fuckin’ Way had it in him to drive like he was in a Mad Max movie?”

Mikey grins. “There’s a lot I’ve got in me that nobody knows about, mainly because Gee causes enough trouble for the both of us.”

Mike laughs. “Fair enough.”

Mikey’s plan is working, even if Mike doesn’t realize it. Physically being detoxed only takes 1-3 days, the rest of it, the need, the want, is all mental. The solution is to distract the addict, make them forget they ever took anything. And when addiction is replaced with adrenaline, it’s almost as if nothing could go wrong.

Almost.

And unless Mikey decides to cause a head on collision, or loses control, nothing is about to.

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The creak of the hinges on a swing is usually soothing or eerie, depending on your location, whether or not you are alone and the amount of wind in the area. This time, it’s neither.

Oli kicks his legs, fingers clasped around the chain of the swing like a child. Vic tries his hardest to find comfort in the noise, but all he can really register is the intense beating of his heart and the nervous fidgeting of his companions.

It’s exactly ten minutes until Ashley is supposed to show up, and despite anything soothing they had or currently were participating in, they’re alive with anticipation and excitement. Calm is miles upon miles away.

The first clue that Ashley is approaching is the distant murmur of voices. They have to be shouting for Andy to be hearing them now, and he swears under his breath. If Ashley and his gang aren’t silent enough, they’ll attract some negative attention and he  _really_  isn’t in the mood for a chase tonight.

With one smooth motion, Oli jumps from the swing, running a few paces as to avoid falling over. He pulls his gun from the inside of his hoodie, checking the bullets one more time before putting it away.

Around him, Vic, Gerard and Tony do the same. Andy is the last to check, he always is.

“Ready?” Andy speaks into the silence.

“We don’t really have a choice,” Vic responds.

The figures making their way towards the group became clearer and more defined as they get closer. Ashley is at the front of the group, two larger, scarier looking guys on either side of him. They’re acting as though they had come for a fight and not an agreement.

Oli tenses and his hands bury themselves in the pocket of his hoodie, wrapping themselves around the gun. He isn’t sure what the hell Ashley is playing at, do they  _look_  menacing or something? Seriously, Gerard looks like a frightened blond puppy, and Vic is way too short for this shit. So what the hell is Ashley doing?

“Have we made up our mind?” Ashley says with a grin, his group spread on either side of him.

“Yeah we have, smartass. It’s your turn to shut up now because  _I’m_  in charge here,  _I_  hold all the cards. Oli, dammit, put the fucking gun down,” Andy spits.

Well what else is Ashley to expect? He just walks in here like he’s the king of the world, of course Andy’s going to get a little bit pissy, and of course, the second someone shows anger, Oli’s gun is raised and ready to fire at any given moment.

“So what’s the deal then? Yes? No? C’mon Andy, tell me now and stop wasting my time.”

“Well it was going to be yes until you walked up to me like you owned the fucking planet. I don’t have the patience or time to deal with cocky assholes, so drop the attitude now or get the fuck out of my sight.”

“Fine, fine, I’m sorry. Do we have a deal?”

“I fucking guess, but you better get your goddamned attitude in line. Shake on it?” Andy says, offering his hand out.

Oli still hasn’t lowered the gun, aiming it perfectly at Ashley’s skull so that one shot will kill him quickly and without any time for Ashley to react.

“Done,” Ashley replies, sliding his hand into Andy’s and giving it a firm shake.

“Alright, we’re gonna need your names, numbers, and addictions, if you have any,” Andy calls out to the crowd, stepping away from Ashley and back into the ranks of his own.

The other group sort of merges together, giving their names and listing out their numbers as Tony types them into his phone with lightning speed. Surprisingly, there are no real addictions (nothing heavy enough for Tony to be concerned about, anyway) and that is extremely helpful.

The numbers of the gang have now climbed to fifteen or so, the exact number a little elusive, mainly because it’s dark and the total number is farther away from anybody’s conscious than it would be in the daylight.

“Right, so we’ll text you when something comes up, and at some point we’ll meet up and get to know each other better. Sorry we can’t really do that tonight. Ashley, will you come with us for a bit? The rest of you can head home. Goodnight,” Andy shouts.

There are responding calls of goodnight, and slowly the larger crowd dissolves, and the other boys turn and leave the park themselves, heading back to Andy’s truck.

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“Bad, bad people Mikey Way. You have to  _listen_  to me, okay?! They’re gonna scoop you up and take you away to a crime filled life on the road murdering women and burning down children’s hospitals-”

“Shut  _up_  Pete. We just need a place to crash, Gerard and Vic are out and they probably won’t be back for a bit. Can you stop your preaching about our terrible criminal brothers and just let us hang out with you? That’s the largest portion of the reason why we’re here.”

Pete pouts. “Fine. I’ll just let them corrupt you. Don’t call me when you wind up in prison.”

“For Christ’s sake  _I’m not in the gang, my brother is_. Can we just watch TV or some shit?”

Mike can’t help but let out a chuckle at the two boys’ banter. They both turn to him with accusing glances, but that doesn’t help matters, it only makes Mike laugh harder.

“You two totally have the hots for each other and it is fucking funny that you both refuse to acknowledge it,” Mike manages to say in between bursts of laughter.  Mikey blushes and looks down, while Pete stutters and fails to form words.

“We don’t, okay? Stop laughing! We don’t!” Mikey protests, the color in his cheeks rising.

“Yeah yeah,” Mike says, waving his hand as if he were chasing off a fly. “You’ll come to terms with the fact you want to bang eventually.”

“See Mikey? Evil people!”

“Turn the fucking TV on before I stab you.”

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“So Ashley,” Andy says. They’re back in the truck, parked in the parking lot of some closed gas station. Ashley is sitting in between Oli and Tony, much to Oli’s pleasure and Ashley’s discomfort.

“Yeah?” He says, shifting a bit so he’s pressed more into Tony and less into Oli. Oli has to fight the smirk off of his face. It feels good to make people scared of him and he isn’t sorry about it whatsoever.

“What’s your story? Why did you want to join our gangs up? How did you even become the leader in the first place?”

Ashley clears his throat. “Well, uh, it was getting kind of rough for just us on our own. We were an easy target for other gangs, we could’ve been taken out at a minute’s notice. And… I care about those guys, I didn’t want them to get hurt, especially if it was my stupidity. So I did a little research, listened in to some conversations, and I found out you guys were the big name in town, small in numbers, but big in fight. Did a little bit of tracking, found out you guys were at the theater, you know the rest. As for how I became the leader, I was just the one who knew what was happening or going to happen before everyone else.”

Andy nods, and Vic picks up the conversation.

“So why us specifically though? There are bigger names, people who are more excited to increase their numbers. You could’ve chosen them,” Vic says.

“I didn’t trust them. I’ve seen those guys around, they’ve got girls hanging off their arms and bottles glued to their lips. You can’t do much when you’re shitfaced. Well you can, but not well. I didn’t want to risk it, so I went to you guys,” Ashley says, relaxing in his seat a bit.

“Sounds right to me,” Tony says, piping up from an otherwise silent standpoint in the conversation. Ashley looks at him with his confusion apparent on his face.

“What do you mean?”

“That’s the way I heard it. Several times.”

“How did you hear?”

Tony laughs. “I’m one of the biggest drug dealers for here and for the next few towns. I hear  _everything_  more than once.”

“Shit, that’s you? I knew it was some dude named Tony, but there’s a lot of Tony’s. Wow, how did you wind up with these guys?”

“That’s a story for another time. Right now, we need to go collect Gerard and Vic’s brothers,” Oli speaks. Andy nods and turns the key in the ignition, the truck coming to life as they pull out of the parking lot and down the road.

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Andy tosses the keys to Gerard, himself, Ashley and Tony climbing out of the truck to make room for Mike and Mikey, saying that they’ll go ahead stick behind to make sure that the house doesn’t burn down.

“Yeah right,” Vic calls out the window. “You’ll be the ones setting it on fire.”

“Lies! All lies!” Andy shouts in reply, pulling out his lighter to light the cigarette in his mouth as Tony leans in closer, staring at the flame the lighter produces in captivation.

“Light your fucking cigarette before Tony burns himself,” Oli calls, redirecting Andy’s attention to the look of fascination on Tony’s face.

“Shit, what the fuck are you doing go over here, shoo, we’re not supposed to let them know we’re burning shit!” Andy says, killing the light and stuffing the lighter back into his pocket.

“Get the hell out of here before they think you died and Pete makes their ears bleed,” Tony shouts.

“Adios, losers!” Vic calls as Gerard grins and pulls out of the driveway.

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The door is only open for all of twenty seconds before Pete shouts “Nope!” and slams the door in their faces.

“Pete! Open this door you little raccoon eyed freak, before we  _break_  it down,” Oli shouts.

“Ha! I’d like to see you try,” Pete shouts back.

“Are you  _sure_  you don’t wanna open it?” Oli replies.

“Of course I’m sure! You’re evil, bad bad bad people! You’re here to corrupt my Mikey! And Mike! You’re going to take them with you and burn down children’s hospitals!”

“The fuck?” Vic mutters.

“Break it down Oli. I’m done with this kid’s bullshit,” Gerard spits.

“I’m giving you to the count of five, Wentz,” Oli barks.

“Ooooh, I’m so scared!”

“One.”

“Pete, what the hell? Who’s out there?”

“Two.”

“The bad people Mikey! They’ve come to take you away!”

“Three.”

“The fuck Pete? Let them in!”

“Four.”

“No Mike! No!”

“Fi-”

Thankfully, Oli is cut off by the door swinging open, a practically rabid Pete being restrained by Mikey, the door being held open by Mike.

“Hey,” Mike says. Mikey smiles, to busy concentrating on holding Pete back to speak.

“I’ll take this. You guys go get your shit,” Oli says. He takes Pete from Mikey’s grasp, lifting him off the floor, holding the smaller boy’s shoulders tightly against his chest, an arm tight around the boy’s knees. It’s an awkward angle, almost as if Oli is half-assing holding Pete bridal style, but it keeps him from kicking and thrashing and that’s enough.

“Mikey! Mike! No! Don’t go!” Pete squeals, thrashing in Oli’s grasp.

“Should we just take the little fucker with us?” Oli shouts in Gerard and Vic’s general direction.

“I dunno. Mikey, where are his parents?” Gerard asks.

“Working. They both have the graveyard shift.”

“So if we left a note saying he’s at a friend’s house, we could get away with it?” Vic says.

“Yeah. Think so, at least.”

“Perfect,” Vic says. He wanders around the room, finding a pen and paper and scribbling a quick note to Pete’s parents.

“So we’re taking him then?” Oli asks.

“Guess so,” Mike replies, reaching up a bit to ruffle Pete’s hair. Pete makes a face and snaps a bite at Mike’s hand.

“Kidnapping me! See Mikey! They’re bad!”

“Pete. You’re coming with Mike and me for a sleepover. It’s not kidnapping.”

Pete pouts. “Somewhere it is. Put me down you goon!”

“Just for calling me a goon, I think I’ll carry you out to the car and inside the house when we get back,” Oli says with a smirk. Pete’s eyes widen, and his squirming recommenced.

“Stay  _still_ , for fuck’s sake. This’ll be a lot easier if you  _quit fucking wiggling like a goddamned worm_ ,” Oli says, putting emphasis on his words by squeezing Pete tighter, no doubt making it uncomfortable.

“C’mon, it’s getting late, and we’ve got school tomorrow,” Vic says, holding the door open so Oli can pass through.

“This little shit can’t fucking stay still. Mikey, how the hell do you put up with him?” Oli asks.

Mikey laughs. “I have no fucking clue.”

Gerard opens the doors to the backseat, Mikey sliding in first against the window. Oli marches up to the car and practically tosses Pete in next to Mikey, Mike then climbing in quickly, sandwiching Pete so he can’t leave.

“Kidnapping! Mikey, hide me,” Pete says, burrowing underneath Mikey’s arm. Mike shoots him a glance that purely says “See, I told you” and Mikey promptly flips him off.  

The car ride back is nothing but the noises of Pete complaining and condemning them to hell and Mike and Mikey telling him to shut the fuck up, paired with hollow threats from Oli that he will carry Pete everywhere for the rest of the week if he doesn’t stop.

When they reach the house, Vic breathes a sigh of relief. They had previously decided to camp out at Gerard’s house for the night, a customary occurrence when it was late at night and everyone was too tired to drive.

“Fucking – Oli, grab the fucker before he runs,” Mike says, keeping a grip on the door handle, not letting Pete’s insistent pushing make him open the door any faster, despite the discomfort.

“Okay,” Oli says through the lowered window, having climbed out after Vic a few moments after they’d stopped. “Get out slowly, and I’ll grab him and carry him inside. Mikey, can you hold onto him long enough for Mike to get out?”

“Yeah,” Mikey calls back.  He glances out the windshield, smiling when he sees that Andy, Tony and Ashley have gathered to witness the release and capture of Pete. Mikey leans forward and grabs Pete’s shoulder’s abruptly, holding him to his chest as Mike opens the door. Mike climbs out with a swift movement, joining his brother and the rest of the boys on the front porch to watch the scene unravel before them.

Oli blocks the exit with his entire body, and gives Mikey a nod.

“Let him go.”

Mikey releases Pete’s shoulders, and Pete launches himself forward, trying to fly out of the small sliver of unblocked space above Oli’s shoulder. Unfortunately, in doing so, he launches himself at Oli, giving Oli just enough time to grab Pete and turn him around to the position he had held him in in the house. Pete releases a defeated cry and begins squirming again.

“Christ!” Oli exclaims as he carries Pete up the steps, Mikey a few paces behind the two.

“Impressive,” Andy says, reaching out to pat Oli’s shoulder.  “So I take it we’re dumping the kid with Mike and Mikey? Oh, and by the way, Ashley, this is Pete. He thinks we’re Satan’s minions here to corrupt Vic and Gee’s brothers. Which are those two,” Andy says, gesturing to Mikey and Mike.  Ashley nods and says hi, the greeting returned by the pair.

“Yeah, Mikey and Mike are the designated babysitters of the night. Let’s get him inside before he wiggles himself to death,” Oli says, smacking Pete’s shoulder lightly with the hand restraining his upper torso.  Pete whimpers and wiggles more as they cross the threshold and enter the house.

Oli sets Pete down as soon as the door is closed, and the first thing Pete does is run and grab Mikey and Mike’s wrists and drag them upstairs, shouting things about kidnapping and corruption and no good, filthy dirty criminals.

“Thank god it’s over. I thought the kid was going to squirm a hole in me,” Oli says, and Andy laughs.

“Well, I’m dead on my feet. I’m gonna go to sleep. You guys good with sleeping downstairs?” Gerard asks.

“Yeah, we’ll be fine. Night Gee,” Oli says, already moving into the living room.

“Night guys,” Gerard says, following the same path Mikey and Pete just had, going to his own room after ducking his head into Mikey’s room to say goodnight.

The group migrates into the living room, Tony claiming his spot right away.

“Chair!” Tony says gleefully, burrowing himself into the armchair, Ashley collapsing on the couch beside Tony and stretching out, ignoring Andy’s nudging of his legs, muttering something about Andy getting his own damn spot.

Andy eventually relents, dragging out the air mattresses he knows that Gee keeps up in the hall closet and blowing them up, the mattresses when pushed together just large enough for himself, Oli and Vic to share without being right next to each other.

Sleep settles over the house quickly, Pete latching on to Mikey like a koala bear that happens to have an excessive amount of eyeliner, Mike shooting them one last glance before catching the pillow that Mikey throws at him and going to sleep.

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“I’m  _free_!”

The hour is unholy, the light of the beginning day grey and ruthless.  Oli groans into the pillow and reaches an arm out blindly to smack at Andy.

“Your turn,” Oli says, his voice hardly audible, muffled by the pillow.

Andy groans in response and begins to sit up, before groaning again and collapsing back onto the mattress.

“Pete, dammit, get back here!” Mikey whisper-yells, reaching out to catch the boy around his waist.

“No! I’m almost free! Let me  _go_  Mikey! I don’t wanna be corrupted and burn down children’s hospitals!” Pete shouts in protest.

Mikey loudly claps a hand over the smaller boy’s mouth.

“Sorry guys, go back to sleep. I got this,” He whispers into the living room.

“You better fucking ‘got this’ or I will skin you both alive,” Andy says, just loud enough for Mikey to hear.

“Yes sir,” Mikey whispers back. He scoops Pete up and drags him back upstairs, Pete struggling only the tiniest bit.

Once Mikey has made it upstairs and opened the door to his room, Mike looks up at him with a questioning glance.

“He escaped.”

Mike nods and rolls over, going back to sleep.

Mikey walks over to his bed and drops Pete on it, being forced to follow when Pete scrambles forward and grabs the edge of Mikey’s shirt, pulling him onto the bed. Twenty seconds after his body hits the mattress, Pete has latched onto him again. With effort, Mikey pries Pete off of him, keeping the boy away from his body until he makes the smaller boy promise not to get up and try to leave again. Reluctantly, Pete agrees, and proceeds to cling to Mikey as if he was the only life preserver on a sinking ship.

Mike sits up for a few seconds, just long enough to mutter “just kiss already” and then flops back down on to the pile of blankets he had claimed to sleep on.

Pete looks up at Mikey through his eyelashes, but Mikey can’t really see that. His eyes are starting to drift close, the early morning light weighing them down. With a small amount of wiggling, Pete inches forward and presses his lips to Mikey’s, pulling away with a squeak when Mikey squeezes his side.

“Go to sleep before Andy skins us.”

“See, bad people.”

“Shut up and sleep.”

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	8. Chapter 8

Kellin can’t think. Nothing seems to be coming to the forefront of his mind, and goddamn is that difficult when trying to write an essay.

Maybe he just needs a little more caffeine. He reaches over and grabs the lukewarm can of soda and chugs it.

Nope, nothing. He’s going to need like six of these to even become slightly awake. It doesn’t help that he has school in less than an hour. Kellin makes a noise that can either be interpreted as a pterodactyl impersonation or as a noise of distress. At this point, either one is correct.

Solution: Call (harass) Frank. Yes. This is a good plan.

He puts his feet up on his desk and uses the leverage to push the chair backward with delight, until the chair hits his bed and throws Kellin off of the chair and onto the mattress.

Kellin pushes his hands under his pillows, searching for the rectangular object that would allow him to annoy his friend to tears.

He’d be lying if he said he doesn’t have a mischievous grin dancing across his face.

Fingers closing around the object, he pulls his phone out and selects Frank’s contact.

“You had better pick up, asshole,” Kellin speaks into the silence.

“Who’s dead what’s on fire where are the drugs?” Comes Frank’s sleepy voice through the receiver, speaking rapidly, but unclear. That doesn’t exactly matter, though, Kellin knows what he’s saying.  

“Me. I died. And am on fire. I am also drugs.”

Silence crackles through the line momentarily.

“What?”

“I am drugs! I am fire! I am death!”  Kellin shouts, standing up on his bed and gesturing wildly to an invisible audience.

“Kellin, stop quoting  _Desolation of Smaug_  and write your motherfucking essay,” Frank says. Kellin can practically  _hear_  Frank’s hand glued to his forehead.

“What essay? I know nothing of essays,” Kellin claims.

“Kellin. Do the fucking essay.”

“Frank. What is an essay,” Kellin responds, imitating Frank’s serious and no-bullshit-motherfucker tone.

Frank groans. There’s a thunk, presumably Frank hitting his head against the wall or desk or something. Kellin flinches, hoping that Frank hasn’t given himself brain damage or something.

There’s the noise of a door closing, and maybe a jacket zipping.

“Don’t light anything on fire, I’m on my way over. Give me ten minutes. Can you manage to sit relatively still until I get there?”

Kellin jumps up and down on his bed. “Maybe. Maybe. My bed is bouncy,” Kellin says, drawing out the vowels in the word ‘maybe’.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“Jesus never fucked Christ! How dare you say that about our Lord and Savior! He would  _never_  commit a homosexual act! It’s a sin!”

“So how much soda have you consumed?”

“Ten inches.”

Frank groans again. “Okay, I’m almost at the bus stop down the street. Try to not break anything.”

“You take the fun out of everything.”

“Yup, that’s my job.”

Not more than a minute later, Frank’s voice fills Kellin’s otherwise empty house.

“OKAY KELLS, DO THE FUCKING ESSAY.”

“AM I SUPPOSED TO STICK MY DICK IN IT? IS THAT HOW YOU DO THE ESSAY?”

There are footsteps coming up the stairs, and Kellin does a weird flippy-rolly thing and hides under his bed. He has to contain his laughter when Frank opens the door and says, “Great. You little shit. Stop hiding, okay, come on.”

Kellin pokes his head out from under the bed. “Peekaboo!” He shouts.

“No, Kellin. Get out of there.”

“NEVER!”

“Kellin. Seriously.”

“Fine.” Kellin says, exasperated.

Kellin crawls out from underneath, his knees dusty.

“What’s the essay on?”

“Some loser bitches that said they ‘discovered’ America to cover up the fact all the really did was commit genocide.”

“So Christopher Columbus?”

“No, Loser McStockings and his crew of Hostages.”

“Kellin...”

Kellin leaps from the desk that Frank has drug him over to back into his bed, grabbing the blankets and burying himself beneath him before Frank’s brain can even really register what’s going on.  

“Goddammit,” Frank grumbles, which receives a laugh from Kellin in response.

“Isn’t that due today?” Frank asks.

“Possibly,” The lump of blankets responds.

“We have school in less than an hour and you’re  _just_  doing this assignment?”

“Possibly,” The lump says again.

“Can you afford to fail this once?”

“Possibly.”

“If you say possibly one more time I’ll call Oli and let him shoot you.”

“Possibly.”

“Shut the fuck up and get ready for school. AND STOP DRINKING THE SODA,” Frank yells as he catches Kellin chugging the rest of the drink.

Kellin swallows the drink and sticks his tongue out at Frank.

“You’re not my mother.”

“Thank god for that.”

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“MICHAEL JAMES WAY, I AM GOING TO EVISCERATE YOUR BOYFRIEND!”

Mikey pulls his face off of the pillow with effort. He tries to become aware of everything around him; the room (which proves difficult until he realizes he’s a dumbass and isn’t wearing his glasses), the voices downstairs, but mostly the threat that had just reverberated through the house.

“What?” He calls back, stumbling out of bed, locating a mostly-clean pair of jeans and pulling them on.

“MIKEY! HE HAS A KNIFE!” Comes the response, more than likely from Pete.

Coming down the stairs, Mikey is met with a sight that causes him to wonder why the hell his brother and his brother’s friends aren’t doing something.

“What the everlasting fuck is going on here?”

Oli is holding Pete off of the ground by his shoulders, a good two or three feet in the air. Andy has a knife, and is poking the handle of it (the blade encased lightly in his palm) at Pete’s stomach. Gerard, Vic, Tony, Mike and Ashley are all sitting at the table, eating and carrying on a conversation, either completely oblivious or choosing to ignore the scene behind them. Mikey guesses it’s the latter and decides to address that.  

“Gerard, get the fuck up and help me out here. Oli, give me him,” Mikey demands.

“Nope,” Comes the almost simultaneous response from Gerard and Oli.  Mikey turns around and gives Gerard his best “What-the-fuck-do-you-mean-no” look until Gerard smiles and begins to explain.

“This little shit tried to escape again, except, you know, he didn’t scream about freedom this time. If Ashley wasn’t such a light sleeper, we would have to be explaining to Pete’s parents right about now that he is fine, and no, he wasn’t kidnapped, there is nothing wrong. Thank you Ashley for saving our asses,” Gerard concludes.

Ashley grins. “All in a day’s work. And then Oli said something about punishment, and that’s how I learned Andy is a sick fucker because he jumped up with this crazy ass grin on his face and said some code word or some shit because next thing I know Oli’s holding Pete in the air and Andy’s poking at him with a knife, as demonstrated over there.”

Mikey looks at the table and its occupants, then to the pair busied with nudging at Pete.

“I hate you all,” Is his final decision.

“Except me,” Gerard pipes up.

“No, especially you,” Mikey says, jabbing his finger at his brother. Ignoring Gerard’s pout, he walks over to Oli and Andy, shoving Andy lightly away (doing his best to avoid getting poked at with that knife) and making the grabby hand gesture at Oli as a signal to hand him over.

Oli smirks before gently lowering Pete to the ground, who proceeds to squeal and clamber up Mikey’s back with a lack of grace and bony knees buried in Mikey’s ribcage. 

“I really, really hate you all.”

“Just keep telling yourself that, if it, you know, makes you feel better,” Vic responds. Mikey rolls his eyes and dumps Pete in one of the kitchen chairs, forcing him to sit still and eat while Mikey showers.

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 Mike is slowly losing his mind. Slowly, very, very slowly. It’s driving him up the fucking wall.

He needs drugs, now. Anything, at this point. It doesn’t even matter.

Tony had told him not to. Tony had made him promise.

Well, fuck that, how the hell is Tony gonna know if he did shit?

Mike looks around the school bathroom. Nope, no Mikey.  No anyone. All he needs to do now is get his hands on some shit and snort or inject or inhale the day away.  Fuck education.

He makes a crazy weird spin thing out of the bathroom to track down someone who he knows has something. There’s a total of maybe five, six people with good stuff that won’t tattle.  The halls are beginning to fill with students from the classes that had been released early. He’s sure he looks like a maniac (god, he feels like a maniac) as he scans over the heads of the crowd, eyes alight, a face in the back of his mind, the face that carries the substances that can destroy him and bring him together all at once.

Mike relaxes visibly when his sight settles on a hyperactive kid with brown hair who’s bouncing around the hallways like the floors were made of rubber.

“JAIME!” Mike shouts, catching the smaller boy’s attention. He bounds over to Mike, enveloping him in a hug that more or less involves Jaime hanging off of Mike’s neck.

“Hey, buddy! How’re ya? I heard some people were trying to sober you up, that sucks man, that sucks  _real_  bad. ‘M sorry, anything I can do for ya,  _get_ for ya, if you catch my drift?” Jaime spouts rapidly.

“Yeah, yeah, just gimme something, anything. I don’t care,” Mike says, shifting his weight from one leg to the other.

Jaime pats his shoulder sympathetically. “I totally understand man. And because I love you, and also because I know that withdrawal is a cranky ass bitch all over your dick, I’ll cut my prices a quarter. Meet me behind the bleachers by the soccer field after school?”

“Sure. See you then, Jaime,” Mike says. Jaime gives a frantic nod, messing his already unruly hair up farther, telling Mike goodbye and disappearing down the hall.

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“Mr. Quinn, did you do your essay?” The teacher inquires, a stack of completed papers clasped in her hands.

“Uh, well, about that. So I um. Did it. But. Well. Caffeine induced self-hatred. Yeah. Um. Have fun with this,” He says as he hands the paper over. She smiles. “I’m sure it’ll be a fun read.”

Thankfully, she’s one of the nicer teachers. She’s not the nicest, but Ms. J is up there, at least in Kellin’s world. She puts up with his crazy antics, something only Frankie has mastered so far.

Kellin can feel someone’s gaze on the back of his head. He doesn’t want to turn around, because if he does, he’ll surely do something stupid.  And if the person staring at him so intensely is also attractive, he doesn’t want to look like a dumbass. Talk about shitty first impressions.

He settles for kicking at his friend Jack’s leg, and asking him to turn around and see who is staring.

Jack rolls his eyes and looks behind them.

“Some Mexican dude, okay? Calm your fucking tits.”

“No, my boobs refuse to be calm!” He shouts. Dammit, now people are looking at him. Let’s just fucking flush decent first impressions down the drain.

Ms. J turns from the lesson and looks at him, a look that is clearly one of questioning his sanity on her face.

“Kellin, do you have anything you would like to share?”

“Who is this Kellin, my name is Carlos.” He says, trying his best to hide the blush on his face as he sinks lower in his seat.

She simply shakes her head and continues on, the gaze still on the back of his head, if anything now it has intensified. Kellin takes a shaky breath. This is nothing to be acting crazy over goddammit. He needs to get a grip.

“So for this project, I want you all in pairs, but  _I’m_  choosing, because I know how well some of you work with your friends,” She says with pointed glares at Jack and his other friend, Alex.  She looks down at the paper in her hand and begins reading.

“Fuentes, Quinn. Gaskarth, Ashby. Carlile, Stump...”

Kellin stands along with the rest of the class that is slowly shuffling around to meet their project partner. He’s completely still for a minute, not even anywhere near sure who this Fuentes dude is. The name sounds Hispanic, maybe, if he’s lucky, they’ll be Frank’s boyfriend’s sexy ass Mexican friend.

He shuts his eyes and made a quick wish to the Gods of Karma, arguing that he had been behaving for the most part and was wearing clean underwear, and therefore things should play out in his favor.

There’s a gentle tap on his shoulder, and Kellin’s point of focus shifts to the short, Hispanic, sexy-as-hell boy next to him.

“Hi, I’m Vic. I guess we’re stuck working on this together, huh?”

 _Holy_  shit. Kellin can’t tell if he even remembers English right now, and he doesn’t know any other languages, so he is beyond fucked. Just...Goddamn. Thank you Gods of Karma.

“Heh, yeah. I guess we are. So where do you wanna start?” Kellin replies at long last, his mouth dry and his heart pounding.

Vic’s eyes light up. Oh shit, that is amazing. “I have a few ideas...” He says, his voice wavering a little with nerves.

“Do tell,” Kellin implores with a smile.

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Mike tries his hardest to not match Jaime’s hyperactive jumpy-ness when he climbs behind the bleachers.  Jaime greets him with a grin, and then a caring word on how shitty he looks.

“So sorry bro. Goddamn. You know what, just take this shit. I never sell enough of it anyway. Have some fun kiddo, just like, don’t go out in public while on this. Trust me.”

“Yeah, I know the protocol. Acid tablets?” Mike asks, examining the product before him. Jaime nods.

“Like I said, careful. You’ve done this before, right?” Jaime says, concern suddenly painting his face.

“Yeah, yeah, a lot, actually. It’s just I thought there was usually a higher demand.”

“Nah, not around here anyway. On the other side of town, yeah, oh my fuck that shit goes fast. Anyway, take it and get the hell out, man, you look like hell and a half.”

Mike nods and gives Jaime a hug in his thanks, stuffing the drugs in his pocket and running around the school to the parking lot, hoping to catch Vic in time.

He does, and Tony grins at him, a pleased, happy grin. An ‘I’m-proud-of-you’ grin.

Mike feels a momentary stab of guilt before he locks it away and returns the smile.

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“And oh my god Frankie, the way he smiled, he was so cute! And his laugh! Holy  _fuck_  his laugh is like fucking music to a deaf man who just discovered hearing aids,” Kellin spews to his best friend, tugging on Frank’s sleeve and grinning like an idiot.

“Uh huh.”

“Are you even listening?”

“Uh huh.”

“Say ‘uh huh’ if I can steal all the pop tarts and all the blankets and build a fort in the middle of the living room.”

“What the fuck?” Frank says, turning to look at the crazy-eyed Kellin.

“Frank, I think I love him.”

Frank groans.

“You’ve only known him for three hours.”

“Don’t judge our love!” Kellin exclaims, slapping a hand against his chest in mock offense.

Despite all the jokes, Kellin really has begun to feel something. It was terrifying and strong and he kept checking to see if Vic displays any of the physical signs he currently is.

He can’t tell, but he prays to the Gods of Karma that Vic’s feelings are there.

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	9. Chapter 9

Gerard has tried and failed for the last half hour to not have a panic attack. His brain is a constant buzz of ‘what if I fuck something up, what if something goes wrong, what if the boys need me in the middle of all this, what if, what if, what if’. Vic and Mikey have been his aid through this entire ordeal, reminding him to breathe and to change his pants you idiot.

Today is the day of Gerard and Frank’s date.  Needless to say, both parties are on edge, acting ridiculous and paranoid about every little thing, much to the amusement of their companions.

Gerard is standing in front of a full length mirror, messing with his hair again. From the bed, just out of the line of sight the reflection of the mirror provides, comes a snort, proceeded by a laugh from another person. Gerard scowls and turns rapidly on his heel to face the pair seated on the bed.  

“What?” he demands. 

Mikey snorts again and buries his face in Vic’s shoulder, Vic’s hand coming up to cover his own smiling mouth, shoulders shaking silently in amusement.

“What? What is it? Is there something on my face?”

Mikey laughs again. “Yeah, desperation.”

 At this, both Vic and Mikey collapse onto each other in laughter, struggling to breathe as the displeased glare that Gerard directs at them throws them farther into hysterics.

“Shut the fuck up. You both are just sad you don’t have a potential boyfriend,” Gerard says, giving himself another glance-over in the mirror before collapsing in the beanbag chair that’s comfortably situated in the corner of the room. Mikey raises his eyebrows in an ‘are you blind or stupid or both’ expression.

“Have you just been ignoring me and Pete lately?” He asks incredulously. Gerard shrugs.

“I try my hardest not to get involved with your love life. With my luck, I’d fuck it all up for you,” He says, a hint of guilt and remorse lacing the edges of his tone.  Mikey’s previously mocking exterior softens for a flicker of a second. Mikey shakes his head.

“You’re not going to fuck anything up for me, promise. It’s going to take a lot more than you being socially awkward to mess things up at this point.”

Gerard relaxes, slightly, but enough. “Okay. I believe you.”

“Awww, aren’t you two just adorable!” Vic says, grinning. Mikey leans over and smacks him upside the head with his hand.

“Just because you and Mike can’t sit still long enough to talk shit out doesn’t mean you have the right to make fun of me and Gerard for being able to do that,” Mikey says, fighting down the smirk that threatens to appear when Vic does a lunge-leap thing that involves rapidly throwing himself behind Mikey to grab one of Gerard’s pillows and hit Mikey with it numerous times before Mikey manages to fight it out of Vic’s hands.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. So we have communication issues sometimes. Doesn’t matter. What does matter, however, is drilling your brother on every single rule we have about relationships,” Vic says. Mikey nods in earnest agreement. They stand, waiting for Gerard to do the same. When he doesn’t, Mikey rolls his eyes and grabs his brother’s arm roughly and yanks him to his feet.

“Stop being such a baby. Let’s get downstairs before Andy decides to sleep, or stab Pete. Or both,” Mikey says, rolling his eyes when Gerard tries to pry himself free of Mikey’s grasp.

“Come the fuck on, Gee,” Mikey says, tugging him forward and out the door.

The trio makes their way downstairs, where Andy is sitting in the living room floor, blurry and out-of-focus eyes transfixed on the glowing blue screen before him. His vision abruptly snaps back into focus when they walk in the room. Mikey shoves Gerard onto the couch and then sits next to him, Vic opting to sit in the armchair.

 Andy wiggles a little bit, forcing his crossed legs to turn 180 degrees to face Gerard who is pretending he is part chameleon and is trying his best to blend into the couch. It’s not working, at all.  

“Right. Hi. I know you know the whole spiel thing I’m supposed to give you, so it would be great if you saved me the trouble and just said everything for me,” Andy says, waving a hand. Gerard nods and begins to speak.

“If you intend to make things serious, tell them exactly everything about the gang and make sure that they understand that you could be killed at any given moment, and that it is best if you keep your relationship on the down low. Don’t let them come with you on anything gang related. Keep your relationship and your business separate. Loose lips sink ships, find out if they are the kind of person that when intoxicated likes to spew secrets,” Gerard dutifully recites.

“You’re forgetting one,” Andy says, tapping two fingers against Gerard’s knee.

Confusion flitters across Gerard’s face. “What did I forget?”

“Don’t let a Juliet happen,” Andy reminds.

“Right. Can’t believe I forgot that. Don’t let a Juliet happen,” Gerard says, almost shocked that he forgot that drastically important rule.

Andy reaches out and pats Gerard’s leg before twisting his body back in to the position it had been in before.

“I deem thee ready for your date. Now chill the fuck out and watch some shitty TV with me,” Andy says, the glazed and distant look slipping back on to his features almost effortlessly.

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“Frankie, just calm your dick. Everything will go fine, you don’t need to smoke a whole fucking pack right here right now, I don’t wanna have to deal with your bitching later when you realize you’ve smoked them all,” Kellin whines, poking at an ant with a blade of dead grass.

Frank and Kellin are sitting on the cement patio behind Frank’s house, Frank feverishly chain-smoking, Kellin torturing the various teensy bugs that have obliviously wandered into his hit zone with blades of grass or still slightly smoldering cigarette butts. So far, one ant has caught on fire and proceeds to run around in frantic circles before it flops over, dead. Soon after, other ants make the mistake of coming to investigate, which only leads to more slightly charred ant carcasses guided into a neat pile by blades of grass.

“Fuck you. I will smoke until my lungs turn to ash. Then, and only then, I might stop.”

Kellin rolls his eyes as Frank hands over the still-lit cigarette butt to Kellin, who gladly proceeds to light the pile of charred ant remains on fire. He grinds the cigarette out against the cement and watches the ants burn while Frank lights yet another cigarette.

“You’re gonna be the poster kid for lung cancer before you’re twenty,” Kellin says disdainfully.

“Shut the fuck up Kellin. Before  _you’re_  twenty you’re going to be in some scientific study about the effects of ADHD medication on teens,” Frank retorts between heavy drags of the cigarette that is pinched between his lips.

“Offensive! But, I’m gonna let it slide, because all you are is nicotine and nerves right now,” Kellin says as he hunches over the pile of ants and blows it out with one breath.

The only response Kellin receives for a few seconds is the steady, deep,  _inhale, exhale_  that accompanies cigarettes.

After a moment, Frank finally responds.

“Just nicotine now, motherfucker. Now get your scrawny ass up, I should probably put on a different shirt,” He says as he heaves himself up and off of the cement, scowling down at his shirt, which he’s holding a few inches from his body by the hem.

Kellin gives the t-shirt a glance and nods his agreement almost immediately.

“You can map how many times you’ve been drunk and smoked by the burn holes in your shirt. That, and I have no fucking clue what that stain actually is, but I can tell you what it fucking looks like, Iero, and it is  _not_  something you want to subject your first date to.”

Frank’s only response is to scoff before mumbling that Kellin is probably right and tromping upstairs, returning a few moments later with a t-shirt that is in considerably better condition.

“ _There_  we go,” Kellin says in approval.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, now can we like, play video games or something? Because I would really like to be distracted for another forty minutes. Pretty please,” Frank says, flapping his hands to disregard his friend’s previous comment.

Chuckling, Kellin turns on the gaming console and passes Frank a controller. Frank breathes in content and in relief and engages in kicking his friend’s ass in Call of Duty yet again.

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The café itself is very small, very quiet, and extremely peaceful. Gerard has been possibly  _too_  careful in picking the location for their date – it borders the edges of their designated ‘territory’, just far enough away from any of the major and endangering action. Frank, however, doesn’t know this, and Gerard prefers it to stay that way. If they meet again (which, he hopes, is going to happen) he’ll have to give Frank the ‘talk’ Andy orchestrated a year or so back, after Juliet. Andy had been a paranoid train wreck, making everyone stay at the same house together, making everyone get phones, exchange numbers. He’d lost his shit and even Oli had begun to question whether or not he needed genuine help.  Fortunately, in the end, he turned out okay.

“Vic, I’m losing my shit,” Gerard says into the phone, his breathing uneven, a death grip on the steering wheel.

“No you’re not. You’re nervous. That’s normal. Just get your ass up and out of the car and ring the fucking doorbell.”

“But Vic-”

“No Gerard. No. Get up, get out of the car, hang up the fucking phone – here Oli, you tell him.”

There’s a brief crackle of static as the phone is passed from Vic to Oli, and Gerard swears he loses some of his hearing when Oli finally speaks – well, yells.

“GERARD ARTHUR WAY. I WILL BREAK YOU IF YOU DO NOT GO RESCUE FRANK FROM THAT  _THING_  THAT HE INSISTS IS COMPANY RIGHT THE FUCK NOW. YOU HEAR THIS? YOU HEAR THIS WEIRD CLICKY NOISE? THAT’S ME, LOADING A GUN.  A BULLET OR SIX WILL BE IN YOUR ASS IF YOU DON’T GET OUT OF THE FUCKING CAR RIGHT NOW OR SO HELP ME GOD I WILL-”

There’s yet another crackle of static, some distant talking, and then Andy’s voice rings clear through the receiver:

“What he said.”

And then the line goes dead.

Gerard shakes his head and chuckles at his friend’s antics. Now, he does feel a little better, but he’s still nervous as fuck.

He breathes deep, bites back the rising panic in his chest, and opens the car door, forcing himself to stay level headed as his feet (on their own, almost as if they’re afraid of Oli) carry him to the front step of Frank’s house.

In the back of his head, he can practically  _hear_  Oli’s voice going ‘ _ring the doorbell, motherfucker, ring the fucking doorbell before I shoot you_ ’. That thought alone, of course, is far more than enough to motivate him to press his thumb against the small button.

On the other side of the door, Gerard can hear shouting, words being exchanged at a rapid fire pace. He hears a thump and inwardly cringes, hoping that whatever had fallen is okay.

Abruptly, the door flies open to reveal the tall boy with the blue eyes, Frank’s friend. His name was Kevin, or Kellin, or something like that, Gerard vaguely remembers.

“Hi. Frankie’s being a nervous fucknut and has sought refuge in the bathroom. Come on in and I’ll go drag his tiny little ass out here,” The boy says as he steps away from the doorway to allow Gerard inside.

“Have a seat, can I get you anything to drink? This might be a bit,” Kellin says with a smile.

“Uh,” Gerard hesitates. To be honest, the way Kellin has suddenly stopped being crazy and practically uncontrollable and has traded the aforementioned traits for seriousness and politeness has caught him a little off guard. “Water is okay,” He finally decides.

“Got it,” Kellin says. He leaves the room momentarily and returns with a glass of water, as promised.

“Alright, give me a moment, I’m going to go get your date. I apologize in advance for any crazy antics you may witness,” The other boy says as he disappears down the hallway.

Gerard takes a sip of his water, the ice cubes clinking together and against the glass.  The silence is shattered by a shout from Kellin.

“I WILL BREAK THIS FUCKING DOOR IERO. STOP BEING SUCH A CHICKEN AND GET. OUT. HERE.”

Their argument sounds as if the two are a married couple who have learned exactly what to say to the other to agitate them. The response Frank gives is almost as funny as the taunt itself.

“I’M A VEGETARIAN YOU FUCKNUT,” Frank yells through the door, his voice reaching Gerard incredibly well, not even muffled by the distance and the wood that his voice has to carry through.

“THEN WHY DID YOU STEAL MY CHICKEN AT THE MALL THE OTHER DAY, HUH?”

“BECAUSE FUCK YOU.”

Gerard chuckles.  Frank’s inability to come up with a decent response must indicate a win on Kellin’s part, because in the next few moments Kellin reappears with a death grip on Frank’s wrist, dragging him out to the living room.

“Here you go. Gerard, right?” Kellin says, shoving Frank forward with an amount of force that is undoubtedly disorienting, but Frank doesn’t show any signs other than a small stumble.  

“Yeah. Hi Frank,” Gerard says, trying his best not to let the nervousness he himself is plagued with bubble to the surface.

“Hi. So. Uh, should we get going?”  Frank says, keeping his gazed directed to the floor, looking up at Gerard once, before looking back down and shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“Absolutely. Sure, yeah, um, my car’s just out front,” Gerard responds, jabbing his thumb in the direction of his car.

Kellin dramatically rolls his eyes.

“You two are so socially awkward it hurts. Get out of here,” He says as he ushered the pair out the door, tossing Frank his jacket when he attempts to push past Kellin, saying he needs it. Knowing full well that Frank is going to just disappear to the bathroom again, Kellin effectively blocks Frank from getting around him and throws him his jacket in one smooth motion.

“USE CONDOMS!” He shouts as Frank and Gerard begin to drive away, resulting in a flush to spread rapidly across both of their faces.

“FUCK YOU QUINN!” Frank shouts back, leaning and arm out the passenger window to flip Kellin off.

“Sorry about him. He’s just lonely, and can’t concentrate for jack shit.”

“So I saw. Anyway, look in that CD case down there and pick something. I trust your music taste.”

Frank leans down and grabs the circular, leather CD case from the floor. He flips through Gerard’s collection almost mindlessly, until his fingers settle on a CD. He pops it into the player and waits until the noise begins to fill the car.

“Misfits? I was  _so_  right to let you pick the music,” Gerard says.

Gerard lowers his hand and turns up the volume to almost (but not quite) unbearably loud as they drive down the highway, occasionally shouting over the music about other bands they like and shows they’ve been to.

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When they finally reach the café, Frank can’t help but find himself forming a small smile. The boy he’s currently on a date with is in a gang, has killed people and wouldn’t hesitate to do it again, and yet, here he is, stuttering like an idiot and blushing like crazy, practically tripping over his own two feet as they walk inside.

Eventually, the thought that he’s with a murderer begins to fester and take hold in his mind, bouncing around the insides of his brain like a rubber ball against a cement wall, or Kellin that time he’d mixed every kind of soda and energy drink he could find and then proceeded to eat half a pint of ice cream. Frank swore he thought Kellin’s heart was going to give out, much like his own right now.

Gerard had picked a booth at the back of the café, quietly and discreetly placed in a corner with a window facing the main street.  Frank and Gerard find themselves passing the time waiting for their food by looking out the window and making up life stories for the people that pass them.

“See that one,” Gerard says, pointing his finger to a middle-aged woman with a baby on her hip and a young child’s hand enclosed delicately in hers. “She used to be a model.”

“Oh yeah?” Frank says, pulling a drink of his soda through the straw.

“Yeah.  And then she fell in love with the photographer, and he only wanted a quick fuck,” Gerard continues.

“So where do the kids come into play?” Frank asks.

“Well, one time he got her pregnant. He freaked out, and left her. Left the business. Left the town. She had to quit her job as a model to raise the baby and took one at a bakery instead. She was heartbroken, but evidently found a new, better man, and had another kid with him. Now they have a perfect, happy family, and she has come to love her job at the bakery,” He concludes.

Frank takes note of how Gerard’s fingers have found their way to the straw of his drink and are absentmindedly stirring the ice with it. Gerard becomes aware of his movements and stops, leaning back in his seat.

Slowly, Frank becomes slightly puzzled by Gerard’s sudden disposition. He seems dejected, almost bitter.

“Gerard, is there, ah, any…… inspiration behind that story?” Frank tentatively asks.

The other boy looks up at him in surprise. “I don’t usually unload all my personal bullshit on the first date,” He mutters, his fingers finding their way back to the straw once again.

“I don’t mind,” Frank replies honestly.

Gerard takes a deep breath before deciding ‘fuck it’ and speaking.

“There’s a fraction of truth to the story…. My mom wasn’t a model, and my dad wasn’t a photographer, but they did meet through work, and when they found she was pregnant with me…. He flipped shit. Left town. The state. Hell, maybe even the country. I don’t even know. Never got a chance to meet him. A few years later, though, she met the guy that would be Mikey’s dad, and he stuck around for a little bit before leaving too. My mom’s just never had much luck with picking decent guys. And then some other shit happened, and me and Mikey are basically on our own. Sorry for unloading this all on you, it’s really uncalled for, I shouldn’t have-”

Frank cuts him off by reaching across the table to put a hand on Gerard’s arm, letting it slide lower and allowing their fingers to tangle together, fighting down the smile that threatens to appear on his face when he notes the rosy color that splatters across Gerard’s cheeks.

“It’s okay. I seriously, genuinely appreciate that you felt confident enough to tell me this. Thank you.”

Later on in the evening, Frank wonders what would have happened after that moment had the waitress not showed up with their orders right then. It’s not that he isn’t grateful that she showed up then – God, the food was so fucking good, he has to remember the name of that place – but later, he just wonders. What would Gerard have said, had he kept talking? His mouth was open and trying to form words, but failing.

At the time, however, Frank just decides to let it drop and enjoy his food.

The rest of the evening is spent with both boys swapping stories and creating their own, genuinely enjoying coming up with life stories for complete strangers. By the time they leave and climb into Gerard’s car, the sun has begun to slink below the horizon, the first few pale and cold rays of moonlight fighting the remaining beams of sunlight.

Gerard sits there for a minute, key in the ignition, hand poised to turn it, when he looks over at Frank and asks him a question.

“Have you ever swung at night?”

Frank is pretty confused. “What do you mean?”

“Like, at a park. On a swing set. After dark?” He asks.

“No, I haven’t.”

“Perfect,” Gerard says with a grin. He starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot, leaving Frank more confused than he was when Gerard first asked the question.

They drive for a little bit, seemingly without destination, until Gerard turns down a narrow and creepy looking road.

As much as he hates to admit it, Frank’s thoughts immediately jump to ‘oh god, he’s gonna kill me and no one will find my body’.  He relaxes as soon as he sees the playground in front of them, abandoned and looking as if it’s going to break apart from a single touch.

Gerard hops out of the car ecstatically, with a grin on his face to envy that of the Cheshire Cat’s.

“Come on, Frankie, you have to experience this. Get out of the car, come on come on come on!” Gerard says.

“It’s cold!” Frank protests, huddling into the seat of the car to preserve as much warmth as he can. Gerard rolls his eyes.

“I will carry you if I have to. Come on!”

Reluctantly, Frank gets out of the car and joins Gerard, who is already on the swing set, seeing as he had practically sprinted to the swing set. Frank, however, opted to walk.

He sits down on the swing next to Gerard, hands stuffed in his pockets, feet gently pushing the ground so he no more than slightly rocks back and forth.

“No, you’re doing it wrong. You actually gotta  _swing_ , Frankie. Kick your feet off of the ground, hold on to the chains, and pump your legs. Otherwise you won’t get the full experience,” Gerard insists, demonstrating how to ‘properly’ swing. Frank finally relents and begins pushing his legs through the chilled night air.

Frank slowly finds himself breathing deep, even breaths, getting lost in the progressively appearing stars above them as their eyes adjust to the darkness. He begins to feel so small, a tiny little blip on the radar of the entirety of creation. Imagining what the other life outside of this world lived like, whether or not they had swing sets and clear skies to look at and feel small, Frank tilts backward, nearly falling over.

“See, isn’t this amazing?” Gerard says, reminding Frank he’s not alone, that someone is with him, someone who is also probably feeling like a miniscule speck on the face of the cosmos.

“It really is. I totally don’t even really care that I’ve lost feeling in my toes and feel slightly motion sick,” Frank replies. He drags his ankles on the ground to slow his speed, dreading the feeling building up in his stomach. Fucking motion sickness.

Gerard laughs and stops as well.

“Are you ready to go home?” He asks with a small smile.

Frank smiles back and casts one more look at the infinite night above. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I am.”

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The only light illuminating Frank’s front porch is the distant street lamp casting an eerie orange glow up and down the cement sidewalk.

How the light hits Gerard’s face is fascinating, highlighting the shadows that play across his features, the way they carve out his cheekbones and his jawline. Beautiful.

Frank is beyond enamored, and wonders, briefly, how Gerard is viewing him right now, in the same, strange, glowing orange light. He almost wishes he could keep this image of Gerard behind his eyelids forever, because right now, he really does look breathtaking.

“Thank you for tonight. I... I had a great time,” Frank says, shuffling back and forth awkwardly.

“Me too,” Gerard says, smiling, which makes him look even more beautiful, if that’s fucking possible. Frank is very close to declaring Gerard’s beauty illegal, but he puts that aside to speak again, hopeful.

“I think this is the part where you’re supposed to kiss me goodnight,” Frank says, pushing down the blush that threatens to appear on his face.

“Yeah?” Gerard says, his voice almost a whisper, leaning just a little closer to Frank. His arms snake their way around Frank’s waist, and Frank brings his own to wind around Gerard’s neck. Their foreheads are resting together, and neither of them make a motion to change it.

So really, it comes as a surprise to both of them when they find their lips pressed together in a sweet, chaste kiss that truly is a goodnight kiss. Innocent and slow, not leading anywhere else.

When they pull apart, Gerard moves back in and presses their bodies together in a tight hug, slowly rocking them back and forth, smiling a little at the vibrations that spread through both of their bodies when Frank releases a low hum in content.

After what feels like forever (or maybe it’s too short, maybe it’s no time at all) they separate.

“Goodnight Frank,” Gerard whispers, leaning down once again and presses his lips to Frank’s forehead.

“Goodnight Gee,” Frank whispers in return. He tries his best not to flinch at the loss of warmth as Gerard pulls away completely and begins walking back to his car. He stops half way there, and then turns on his heel in one swift motion.

“See you again sometime?” Gerard says hopefully. Frank smiles, genuinely smiles.

“Definitely.”

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“Kellin, I’m fucked,” Frank says the second he walks inside his house.

“How so? Did you use a condom like I told you to?” Kellin says, doing the thing that Frank still isn’t sure if he hates yet or not, the thing where he’s serious for all of three seconds and then immediately jumps into stupid idleness.

“I think I’m kinda sorta falling in love with him,” Frank says, jumping over the back of the couch to sit next to his taller companion.  

At this, Kellin gives him his best ‘are you sure about this’ face and turns the volume down considerably on the TV.

“Are you being serious?” He asks.

“Yeah. Yeah, I am. Don’t look at me like that motherfucker, you said you’d fallen in love with Vic the day we  _saw_  him in the mall,” Frank shoots back.

“I’m a funny person so I do funny things. I have a crush on him, sure, but I don’t think I’d say I loved him after one date,” Kellin says skeptically.

“Just… Just trust me on this, okay? I know I shouldn’t be rushing things and shit, but I genuinely feel like... you know… I could easily spend the rest of my life with him.”

“You’re delusional, Frank. Go the fuck to sleep,” Kellin says, shaking his head and turning the TV back up. Frank mumbles a ‘fuck you’ at his friend and pulls the heavy blanket off of the back of the couch and proceeds to pull it around himself and burrows into the side of the couch. Sleep soon follows.

Frank dreams of endless stars and swing sets.

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	10. Chapter 10

“Guys?” Gerard calls into the house. He listens for a moment, and is greeted with silence.

“I’m fucked,” He calls at a louder volume.    

Those appear to be the magic words.

All at once, a stampede of feet race from all corners of the house to the front door, where Gerard is.

“I will still unload a gun in your ass now what the fuck happened?” Oli yells, racing in front of the other boys by a long shot, grabbing Gerard and pinning him against the door.

“Whoa, whoa, no one’s dead. Well, Andy might be. Just a little bit. On the inside,” Gerard says, pretending he doesn’t want to laugh when he sees Andy’s scowl of disapproval.

“Motherfucker, don’t you dare do that thing right now where you avoid talking about the actual situation because that loaded gun is still an option,” Oli growls.  Gerard raises his hands in surrender.

“Can I elaborate in another room? You know, maybe in the one with all the chairs? Let me in the goddamned house, Sykes.”

Oli reluctantly releases Gerard, who upon his release walks into the living room and collapses into the chair. He runs his hands through his short blonde hair, sighing heavily.

“Do we need to kill somebody? Maim them? Politely eviscerate?” Tony says. Gerard looks around the room, and finds himself genuinely shocked that everyone in the room portrays concern in some form. Even Andy, and he is a master of poker faces.

“No. No one needs to die. It’s just...” Gerard begins, and then finds that he can’t make his voice work.

“What, Gee? What is it?” Mikey says. He notices then that Mikey is most definitely the most worried out of this entire group, and these guys are their family. That’s a hell of a lot of worry stored inside one tall, lanky, skinny teenage boy. It can’t possibly be healthy.

Gerard forces his brain to shut the fuck up and finally decides to just say it.

“IthinkIlovehim,” He spews rapidly. Confusion ripples around the room.

“Dude,” Ashley says. “In English.”

Gerard breathes deeply for a second. He becomes painfully aware of the blush increasing and spreading across his face.

“I think I love him. I mean, I really, really like him,” He says at last.  

Silence falls. Gerard begins to panic, every fear one can possibly have in this situation magnified and definitely more intense, bubbling and rising inside of him.

“You sure?” Andy says, breaking the silence. Gerard audibly swallows.

“Y-yeah. I’m sure.”

Mikey looks at him, admittedly a little skeptical. “You’ve been on one date Gerard. One. How can you know this? You’re jumping to conclusions.”

Gerard sighs heavily and runs his hands through his hair again. “I know, I know. I just... I can’t imagine a future without him. I’m crazy, aren’t I, oh god-”

“No, Gerard. No. You’re not crazy. Maybe a little over infatuated, and possibly a little too fast paced, but not crazy. We’re not gonna ship you off to therapy, I promise,” Oli interrupts him, reassuring him and subduing his panic, albeit minimally, but just enough so that Gerard stops shaking.

“Are you really, really positive that you feel like this?” Andy says again, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees, completely absorbed and slightly afraid of the situation unfolding in front of him.

Gerard pauses for a second, searching his mind for any sign that he doesn’t truly feel like this. The answer is no. He really does feel like this.

God, is he screwed.

“I am positive.”

“Fuck, Gerard,” Vic says. “You know how this could end. Do you really want this?”

All Gerard can do is breathe. He counts his breaths,  _in_ ,  _out_ , marking each breath by the decreasing pound of his heart.

“No. I don’t want him... To end up like Juliet. I want to have a relationship with him, as long as possible... But I don’t want... that,” Gerard says at last.

Andy shakes his head. “Gerard, this is almost impossible and way too fucking risky. Not wanting him to end up like her is like looking at a door and telling it to stay shut. It’s not gonna fucking happen.”

“I know, I know… but can’t we hope?”

“Living in a delusion isn’t healthy,” Andy replies.

“Biersack, shut the fuck up. He isn’t living in a fucking delusion. He wants to be  _happy_. Name the last time you saw Gerard  _with someone in a romantic sense_. If this is as potent as Gerard says it is, then you need to step the fuck down and let him risk this all on his own.  _He’s_  the one with the cards in his hands.  _Not_  you,” Mikey interjects, jumping to his feet, standing up for Gerard and challenging Andy with the most intense ‘come at me, I dare you’ face he has, the face that Gerard has seen only once or twice in a handful of years.

Everyone is shell-shocked, especially Andy. Mikey is usually peaceful and calm, never truly as enraged as he is now. To be honest, it scares him. He makes a mental note to not ever make Mikey extremely pissed, if he can avoid it.

Gerard reaches forward and locks his fingers around Mikey’s wrist, and slowly pulls him backwards until he’s sitting next to Gerard in the chair. Mikey’s anger drops abruptly, nearly immediately, leaning into his brother, resting his head on his shoulder. Gerard mutters his thanks into Mikey’s hair, pressing a kiss there.

“Okay Gerard, we can try this. But you have to give him the speech, okay? I don’t want to see either of you hurt. And especially not because of us, and what we do.”

Visibly relaxing, Gerard collapses against Mikey and exhales in relief.

“Alright. Thank you so much for this Andy.”

“Yeah, yeah, shut the fuck up, I wanna hold up a gas station. We’re a little low on street cred, plus I wanna try this shit out with our new numbers,” Andy says, waving his hand.

He pulls out his phone and taps out a quick message, and within moments every phone in the room buzzes or chirps (or, in Oli’s case, plays the first few lines of Baby Got Back) with the same message:

**Meet @ G’s house. #590 on Grand St.  Get here right the fuck now. Or as quick as possible. –Andy**

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The motley crew of people currently situated in Gerard’s living room kind of intimidate him, if he were to be honest. There are multiple people Andy’s height and taller, some heavily tattooed and pierced, others blank canvases like Gerard, but nonetheless menacing.

“Right. So. I need to know your names, and what you’re good at. We’ll just go around the room like this is the first day of kindergarten,” Andy says. He points to a taller boy, who appears so nonchalant that he looks almost unimpressed with the group around him.

 “You start.”

The boy suddenly comes to life then, looking a little caught off guard before clearing his throat and answering. “Um, I’m Bob, and I’m pretty good with a gun.”

“Excellent. Next?”

“I’m Ashley, and I prefer knives,” Ashley turns to the girl next to him, who smiles this creepy, menacing grin that gives Gerard chills.

“I’m Lindsey, and I’m a master of hand-to-hand combat and manipulation.” 

The room tenses around her, the only people who seem relaxed are Bob and the girl next to her. The girl, to be honest, almost looks bored with Lindsey’s statement.

“I’m Kitty and Lindsey is an overdramatic cunt. I like knives and other sharp things.”

“I’m Patrick and uh... I...”

Patrick is small, smaller than Frank (which really throws Gerard for a loop. He doesn’t think that was even possible) and is obviously very shy. It completely eludes Gerard as to how the hell he wound up in a  _gang_.

Thankfully, another boy with wild and crazy hair speaks up for him. “Patrick is really shy, sorry. He doesn’t talk much. I’m Ray, and Patrick and I specialize in explosives.”

Andy makes a look of surprise.

“Explosives?” Oli pipes up. “Fuck yes. Andy let’s blow up a church. No wait the school. Actually both. Yes let’s blow up both.”

Rolling his eyes, Andy shoots Oli down.

“Oli, we’re not blowing anything up. Yet. Anyway, next?”

“I’m Chris and I’m a firearms expert.”

Gerard decides then and there he is slightly afraid of Chris. He’s tall, with chin length greasy black hair and terrifyingly pale skin, as well as three lip piercings and a look in his eyes that says ‘fight me motherfucker’. Gerard tells himself he was going to hide behind Oli if this guy ever got pissed.

“I’m Oli and I like stabby things and shooty things. Also cake. And harassing Andy.”

“My name is Tony and I sell drugs. Sometimes I shoot things.”

“I’m Ricky and I’m good at racing and maybe shooting if the planets are aligned.”

“Vic, and I shoot things.”

Gerard tries his best to not be nervous when he notices that he’s next after the boy next to him. He tries to listen to what he says, he really does, but the most he catches is the boy’s name (Brendon) and that judging by his tone of voice he’s an extremely bubbly and perky person and his personality leaves Gerard in the same puzzlement that Patrick’s had.

“I’m Gerard and I’m practically useless if I don’t have a gun.”

Immediately, his brain is swamped with worries and concerns that he’d said the wrong thing and that everyone else is going to make fun of him or tease him from now on. He relaxes, albeit only slightly when Patrick notices his worry and sends him a small reassuring smile.

“Right, well I’m Andy and I’m the fucker in charge of all you fucking fucks. Now that we all know each other’s names, let’s discuss how we’re going to do this.”

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“Kells you fucking asshole! GET BACK HERE!” Frank shouts after Kellin, who is running away and up the stairs of Kellin’s house. Kellin’s laugh (more like cackle) echoes down the hallway and a door slams. Frank swears under his breath and races up the stairs after the fucking gazelle-legged weirdo that is Kellin Quinn.

“Kellin?” He calls into the hallway. “Kellin? Come on you little shit, where are you?”

The whoop of laughter gives away Kellin’s location. It is immediately followed by a frustrated exclamation of ‘goddammit’, and Frank can’t help but grin to himself.

Frank flies down the hallway to Kellin’s room. He throws open the door and suddenly find himself thrown over Kellin’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes, watching the staircase disappear behind them as Frank uselessly beats his fists against Kellin’s back and only receives Kellin’s cackle in response.

“Gah!” Frank shouts as he is literally thrown onto the couch. Kellin gives him less than ten seconds to breathe before sitting on his chest and staring blankly at the movie playing on the TV.

“Get off of me fucker! You weigh a ton! Jesus Christ what do you eat?!” Frank yells, pushing at Kellin’s back and getting no response.

“Get. Off. Of. Me. Goddammit,” He protests again, each word punctuated with a sharp squeeze to Kellin’s ribs, where Frank knows he’s ticklish. Kellin squawks and wiggles on Frank’s chest, effectively crushing Frank’s lungs and ribs further, causing Frank to push at Kellin once again while choking out that he can’t breathe. Finally, Kellin relents and shifts off of Frank’s chest and onto his legs, which isn’t any more comfortable, but it did hurt less, and it doesn’t impair Frank’s breathing or (potentially) endanger his life.

“That’s what you get for being a stuck up douchewad, Frankie,” Kellin says, gaze never leaving the television screen. Frank huffs and crosses his arms.

“I wasn’t being a douchewad,” He protests.

“Uh huh,” Kellin replies, jabbing a finger at Frank’s stomach. “I told you I wasn’t going to deal with your bitching ass when you realized you smoked all your cigarettes, and yet, despite my warning, you proceeded to moan and groan like you were an old white guy whose favorite football team just lost. So you had it coming when I dumped the water bottle on your head.”

Frank rolls his eyes. “Just because I bitched a little bit doesn’t entitle you to giving me a shower in the middle of the fucking kitchen.”

Kellin snorts and jabs Frank’s stomach again.

“It so fucking does. Besides, you wouldn’t shut up about  _Gerard_  either, and you needed to close your stupid fucking mouth,” He declares, wiggling a little more on Frank’s legs.

“Fine. Fine, goddammit. If I get up and get you skittles will you stop trying to break my kneecaps?”

“It’s a possibility. We won’t know until I have some in my hand though.”

Frank sighs heavily and pushes himself up on his elbows. “Get off my legs then fucker, and I’ll get you some.”

Kellin shifts again, finally releasing Frank’s legs. Frank scrambles off of the couch and stumbles, lacking any coordination he has ever possessed, into the kitchen.

He throws open various cabinet doors, searching for the godforsaken skittles.  When he finally finds some, he did an internal victory dance. Frank walks back into the living room and throws the skittles at Kellin’s head, the small candies making a rattling noise in the package as they finds their target.

“Ow! Ooo, skittles! Thank you Frankie,” Kellin chirps, tearing open the package and popping a few in his mouth.

“Yeah yeah. Just don’t sit on me again,” Frank replies. Kellin sighs heavily before agreeing that he won’t.

“Good Kellin.”

“I should sit on you.”

“You won’t though.”

Kellin sighs in defeat. “You’re right, I won’t.”

Frank grins and steals a skittle.

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“So Vic, myself and Creepy McFuckerpants are gonna walk inside the gas station, alright? Then Lindsey and Kittycat are gonna call the cashier. When he picks up, Creepy, Vic and I are gonna pull our guns and run up front. Lindsey and Katkat will hang up, then Gerard and Andy will chain the front door shut. Creepy will jump over the counter next to the cashier to ensure he doesn’t hit the alarm, and like, get him in a headlock, gun to his forehead and shit. Keep in mind that has to be done very quickly, before he notices he’s got guns on him. Vic will go let everyone else in through the back door while Creepy and I take the cashier to the back room and duct tape his mouth shut and chain him to a chair. Once everyone, minus Gerard, Andy, Ricky, Lindsey and Kitty, are inside, Creepy and I will empty the register and then it’s a free for all. Ransack the shit out of the place. Graffiti, spill, break, empty, crush anything and everything you feel like. Once we’re done, we exit through the back entrance. Bob, Creepy, Vic and Gerard will get in the car with Ricky. Ashley, myself and Tony will get in the car with Kitty and Lindsey. Brendon, Patrick, and Ray get in the car with Andy.” Oli concludes, capping the expo marker and turning his back to the whiteboard with various poorly drawn stick figures and arrows and x’s littered messily across its surface.

“Questions?” Oli asks.

Chris puts his hand in the air first. “Why am I Creepy McFuckerpants?”

Oli raises his eyebrows. “Have you  _looked_  in the mirror lately? Dude, you’re the shit out of my nightmares.”

That statement earns him a soda can to the face from Andy. “You’re not any better, fuckface,” Andy argues.

“Who are you to be judging?” Oli says, and he sticks out his tongue and flips Andy off.

Slowly, and very, very shakily, Patrick raises his hand.

“W-would it be o-okay if I s-stayed outside?” He stutters bashfully, meeting Oli’s gaze for a flicker of a second before looking down at his folded hands.

“That would be fine. Anyone else who’d rather stay outside who isn’t already out there?”

No one says anything. The room stays quiet.  

“Perfect.  Alright. Vic, Gerard, would you throw together the supply backpacks? Tony, would you hand out bandannas and hoodies? Oli, can you go make sure the gas tanks are full and that the phone Lindsey and Kitty are going to use has full minutes?” Andy says, taking charge.

There is a chorus of nods and ‘yes, sir’ s and the boys set out on their assigned missions.

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The sun has begun to sink below the sky. Mike keeps his gaze locked on it, the light burning his retinas so that when he looks away there are bright spots of light flickering in and out of his vision. The baggy of acid tablets sits not too far from him, tempting his so far successful sober existence.

But Mike knows that he isn’t a strong person, no matter what Tony thinks. Mike is a weak, weak man, who caves at the powdery taste of pills, the thick bitter taste of alcohol, the burning sweet slide of cough syrup. 

He pulls the Ziploc baggy open and takes out one of the tablets, setting it on the windowsill a few inches from his fingertips.

The tablet seems to glare at him, challenging him.  _Take me_ , it seems to say,  _I dare you_.

Mike stares at the tablet for a little longer. The image of Felix the Cat grins up at him, taunting him.

 _What would Tony say?_  The tablet asks,  _He’d be so disappointed in you._

He swears at the tablet and puts it back in the baggy. Mike throws it into the top drawer of his dresser and collapses onto his bed, rubbing his eyes.

All Mike can do is pray for sleep.

Eventually it comes, in the form of a burning desire for any form of intoxication, and in an equal and possibly stronger feeling, a sense of shame and disgust.

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Sirens. Fucking. Sirens.

It is nearly one in the morning and Frank’s neighborhood is alive and loud with a cacophony of sirens. Kellin is curled up next to him again, stirring slightly when the impending sirens get louder and closer. Frank runs his hand gently through Kellin’s hair, propped up on his elbow, doing his best to soothe him and possibly send him back to sleep.

His efforts prove useless, however, when Kellin turns his face into Frank’s hand and licked it.

“Ew!” Frank says and wipes his hand off on Kellin’s shirt.

“Stop petting me. I’m not a cat,” Kellin mumbles, turning over and pressing his side to Frank’s front.

“You are so a cat. Don’t lie,” Frank says as he recommences petting Kellin’s hair.

“Purr purr, motherfucker.”

Frank laughs and lays down next to Kellin, tugging on the blanket and pulling it over their shoulders. Kellin makes a noise of protest.

“You’re stealing the entire fucking blanket.”

“You have more of it than I do!” Frank complains.

“Fine. Fucking fine,” Kellin says. He shifts over and nudges his way under Frank’s arm, laying his head on his chest, tangling their legs together.

“No homo,” Kellin says with a yawn, nuzzling into Frank’s chest, pulling the blanket tight over them.

Frank chuckles and feels himself slowly and peacefully lose consciousness.

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“WE ARE FUCKING  _KINGS_!” Oli shouts, throwing his leg gracelessly through a shelf. The replies his exclamation earn in response are similar in nature, Chris standing in the middle of the same aisle, dumping case after case of alcohol onto the floor while cheering with Oli maniacally.  

“Aw c’mon, that’s such a fucking waste!” Ashley shouts when he sees what Chris is doing. Chris grins and pops the tab of another beer and begins pouring it on the floor.

“Such a waste,” Ashley says again, before dropping to his knees and sticking his mouth beneath the bottle in a fluid and unbroken motion.

“Ash, I hope you know you look a little bit like a whore,” Chris says as he opens another bottle.

“I’m a beautiful whore. Now gimme beer,” Ashley says, making grabby hands upwards at the beverage.

Chris simply chuckles and hands Ashley the beer. “You’ve got it all over you. Just take the bottle.”

“Thanks. As you were,” Ashley says, standing up and chugging the drink.

“FUCK! SIRENS! GET GOING! NOW! OUT OUT OUT OUT!” Andy shouts above everyone else. The store abruptly falls silent, and then comes alive once more with the sound of falling items and running footsteps. They fly out of the back entrance like a man escaping prison, running past the bound and gagged cashier (who is screaming against the tape) and throws themselves into the cars, the drivers already in position, the engines on and running.

They tear out of the parking lot like madmen, racing down the highway in the opposite direction the sirens are coming from, laughing and whooping like maniacs. Brendon is singing ‘We Are The Champions’ at an obnoxious volume, and when Andy tells him to shut the hell up, Brendon responds with a very loud, very musical ‘Fuck you’.  Even Patrick is laughing, a grin stretched wide on his face.

Once they reach Gerard’s house, everyone collapses in the living room floor. Mikey and Pete choose then to make an appearance, Pete flailing and squawking and waving his arms when he gets an eyeful of a booze covered and adrenaline hazed Ashley.

“Mikey! Mikey, they’re going to take you to burn down children’s hospitals! Mikey, Mikey, listen to me! Bad people!” He says, flapping his arms and bouncing around the room, gesturing wildly, holding his hands out as if to say ‘exhibit a’ when he stands next to Chris.

Mikey rolls his eyes and walks into the kitchen.

“So the bouncy crazy one who thinks we burn down children’s hospitals is Pete. The silent one is Mikey, he’s my brother,” Gerard explains.

“One time Pete wiggled a hole through me,” Oli says, playing with a bag of gummy bears he stole idly. Lindsey sits up from her previous position of laying in Kitty’s lap to give him a look that clearly states ‘what the fuck?’.

“He wouldn’t let Mikey leave, so we had to take him with us. Pete didn’t want to go willingly, so I carried him. He’s a squirmy fucker,” Oli says, popping a gummy bear into his mouth casually.

“Speaking of siblings, Vic, where’s Mike?” Tony asks.

“Oh shit,” Vic says. “I don’t know. Fuck. Mikey, where’s Mike?” Vic calls out.

“Upstairs, I think. He came over earlier and passed out on the couch. He’s been doing a lot of sleeping lately,” Mikey calls back, reappearing in the doorway with a sandwich in one hand and the other on Pete’s shirt, preventing him from moving.

“Okay, good. I’m a shitty older brother, I don’t even have the slightest clue where he could have been. Thanks for not losing him Mikey,” Vic replies.  

Mikey waves the hand with the sandwich in it at him. “It’s nothing. Someone’s gotta be the responsible one around here.”

“Hey, I’m responsible!” Andy protests. Mikey rolls his eyes.

“You’re as responsible as Gerard that one time when we had to take care of our neighbor’s fish.”

“I thought we weren’t ever gonna talk about that!” Gerard shouts, color rising in his cheeks.

Mikey shrugs. “Whoops.”

He walks away, dragging Pete with him.

“So what happened with the fish?” Ricky asks.

“I um. Forgot to feed them. And they all died, except for one fish that survived by eating its dead brethren’s carcasses.” Gerard says bashfully, ducking his down and not looking at anyone.

“What did you tell your neighbor?” asks Ray.

“That I didn’t know how it happened, it must have been some sort of malfunction in the heater for the tank,” Gerard admits.

“I can see the headlines now. ‘Fish comes forward with shocking story of murder and being forced to resort to cannibalism; Perpetrator Gerard Way arrested, charged with fishslaugher and animal cruelty,” Andy says, manipulating his voice so it sounds official, like a reporter’s.

“Ugh, that’s it, I’m fucking done with you guys. Does anyone want a ride home, I’ll play taxi service and drive you back myself if you feel like you are too tired to drive,” Tony says, standing up and holding his hand out to Andy, indicating that he needs the keys. Andy fishes around in his pockets a moment before pressing them into Tony’s palm.

“Yeah, I’ll take a ride.”

“Me too.”

“If it isn’t too much trouble.”

“You can drop me and Kitty off together.”

“Same for me and Chris. “

“I guess we’ll need a second driver. Gerard, you up for driving?” Tony says.

“Yeah, I can do it.” He confirms.

“Patrick, would you like us to give you a ride back to your house?”

Patrick fidgets nervously as the attention in the room is drawn to him.

“N-no, I’ll walk. My house isn’t too far from here. Thanks for the offer though,” He says, pushing his glasses back up his nose.

Tony nods. “Alright, let’s head out. Gerard, will you take everyone that’s getting dropped off together?” Tony asks. Gerard nods and pushes himself off of the floor.

“Alright. Everyone say goodnight!” Tony calls to the group that is following himself and Gerard out the door. A chorus of goodnights drift through the house, and one “It’s technically morning. Good morning!” .

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Gerard listens intently to the directions Lindsey is giving him. She is being very patient, and for that Gerard is thankful, because truthfully, yes he feels awake enough to drive, but he is in no mental state anywhere near fit for trying to drive under someone else’s directions.

“Turn here, okay?” She says, pointing to Gerard’s left, onto a small cul-de-sac.

He does as instructed, and she tells him to stop in front of the house with the blue door. It’s slightly difficult to see the color of the doors from where he currently is, seeing as it’s dark and his eyes are progressively becoming uncooperative and being pushed downward with sleep, but he manages to find the house, bringing the truck to a stop and bidding Kitty and Lindsey goodnight.

“Gerard, man, if you’re too tired I can drive us to my house,” Ricky offers, leaning forward and putting a hand on Gerard’s upper arm.

“It’s fine, if I stop driving now I’ll fall asleep. Just tell me how to get to your house and I’ll be okay from there,” Gerard says.

Ricky sighs and begins to give Gerard directions with obvious amounts of doubt and hesitation heavy in his voice.

Thankfully, Ricky’s house isn’t too far from Lindsey’s, although Gerard does have to make a few risky turns, his lack of motor skills so early in the morning becoming increasingly more and more apparent.

Gerard sits in the car for a moment, watching Ricky and Chris’s backs, making sure they get inside the house alright. When the door finally closes and a few lights come on, Gerard breathes a sigh filled with exhaustion and rests his forehead against the steering wheel. He stays like that for a few moments, summoning the willpower to shift the car out of park and into drive and finally make it back home.

He uses the thought of a warm bed and soft pillow as motivation to finally drag his forehead off of the unforgiving rubbery wheel and pull out of Ricky’s driveway.

When his house finally comes into view, Gerard has to stop himself from crying out in relief. Andy’s truck is already parked in its usual spot, signifying that Tony is already back.

Gerard cuts the engine of the truck and staggers into the house, rubbing his eyes and fighting down the tsunami of yawns that keep threatening to happen.

After fiddling with the doorknob for a moment (so he’s forgotten how doors worked, sue him) Gerard finally stumbles inside, practically collapsing onto the couch the second it comes into view.

“Gerard, you do realize you have a much more comfortable bed upstairs, right?” Andy says. Gerard makes a noise that probably can’t be classified as human and flaps his arms.

“Too sleepy. Can’t legs. Sleep,” He says.

“Oli, will you carry him upstairs please? I don’t trust him to come anywhere near walking up those on his own.”

“Yeah, I’ve got him. C’mon Gee, let’s get you upstairs and in your warm bed, yeah?” says Oli, scooping Gerard up bridal style and grinning when Gerard loops his arms around Oli’s neck and mutters “sleepy” into his chest.

Oli walks up the stairs carefully, ensuring he doesn’t jostle the Sleeping Beauty too much. Fighting with the door for a moment (much like Gerard had) Oli finally gets inside Gerard’s room and gently places him on the bed.

Immediately upon feeling his blankets, Gerard says ‘Bed!’ quite cheerfully and burrows under his mound of blankets. Oli chuckles and pats his head, whispering his goodnight to the pile of blankets that is now happily and peacefully asleep.

When he gets downstairs, Andy has already blown up the air mattress, and Tony is already curled up in his chair. Vic and Ashley are having a very animated discussion on whether or not Ashley should fucking shower, Ashley protesting that he shouldn’t because he doesn’t have a change of clothes, and that it isn’t that bad, whereas Vic claims he smells like a goddamned liquor store and he’s pretty sure Mikey has some sweatpants and a tee that would fit him.

“I’m with Vic here,” Andy chimes in. “You should really fucking shower. I’ll go see if Mikey has some spare clothes right now,” He says, turning around and disappearing up the stairs.

“Fine. Fucking fine. You win. I’ll take a motherfucking shower.” Ashley says, raising his arms up in defeat.

Vic lets out a noiseless cheer of triumph, to which Ashley rolls his eyes and peels off his liquor-scented shirt and throws it in Vic’s face. Vic makes a noise of disgust and throws it in the corner.

“Don’t throw that shit at me again motherfucker, or I swear to god one morning you will wake up castrated,” Vic says, jabbing a finger at Ashley’s bare chest.

“Ladies, stop fighting. Here’s the clothes Ash, now go fucking get all that booze off of you,” Andy says, reappearing and handing Ashley some of Mikey’s old clothes.

“But what if I like smelling like a tavern?” Ashley disputes.

“Good for you. But we don’t like it, and majority rules. Get your ass in the shower,” Andy says, shoving Ashley in the direction of the bathroom.

“Fine. You win. But this is the first and  _only_  time it will ever happen. Ever,” Ashley says.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Oli chimes in, knowing full well that Andy never loses an argument. In fact, the only time he’s ever lost an argument was one with Oli. He isn’t trying to be self-centered or anything, but Oli kinda takes pride in that fact.

Ashley grumbles one last time before closing the door of the bathroom behind him.

“I dunno about you guys, but I’m tired as fuck,” Vic says, crawling down on to the air mattress after grabbing a pillow and a blanket.

“I’m fucking beat,” Oli agrees, grabbing his own blanket and pillow.

“Yeah, same. Goodnight guys,” Andy says as he settles into the mattress himself.

“Goodnight.”

“Night.”

 


	11. Chapter 11

Mikey stares at his shirtless reflection in the mirror. He has to remind himself not to flinch, not to cry. He isn’t that person anymore. The presence of body fat (or lack thereof) doesn’t matter anymore.

Yet he can’t bite down the whimper that bubbles in his throat when he realizes that his ribs have sunken back beneath the skin of his stomach. He clutches the edge of the cold granite of the bathroom counter, resisting taking his fingers and tracing the dents and shadows where his bones protrude and fall underneath skin.

No. Not anymore. The important thing right now are the wounds scattered across his torso that his brother had stitched up with great care approximately two weeks ago. They need to be cleaned, and the bandages changed. Mikey is scrutinizing himself in the hazy mirror, waiting for Gerard to appear with the medical supplies. Gee is taking too long, way too long. The mirror only appears to grow and encapture him, begins to mock him, begins to point out the bones that stick out in all the wrong places and the ones that disappear beneath flesh in equally (if not more) hated spots.

Mikey and Gerard had stayed home from school today with the intention of patching Mikey up, Oli opting to skip the first three periods of the day to help.

Thankfully, Gerard comes back into the room then, closely followed by Oli, various antiseptics and other freakishly sterile medical equipment being carried by the both of them. They set the supplies on the bathroom counter next to Mikey, who has hopped onto the counter when he hears Oli’s bitching about carrying heavy stuff come nearer.

Oli perches himself on the lid of the toilet tank while Gerard scans Mikey’s chest quickly and then begins pulling out the required supplies.

“Mate, that shit is nasty. How are you not screaming in pain when Wentz claws his way up your chest?” Oli says, flinching as Gerard begins to unstitch one of the many cuts across his chest.

Mikey shrugs. “If I don’t let him crawl all over me, he gets sad. Sad Pete equals annoying Pete. Kinda like you when you don’t get your way.” 

Oli pouts and crosses his arms.

“I’m not  _that_ bad,” He protests.

“You’re right,” Gerard chimed in. “You’re absolutely terrible.”

At that, Oli sticks out his bottom lip. He snuffles a few times and wipes at his eyes, pretending he’s crying.

Mikey rolls his eyes, and then flinches when Gerard slowly begins to unstitch one of the deeper wounds.

“How did you even  _get_  these? What did they  _use_?” He asks, brow furrowed in concentration, voice breathy and hardly there.

“K-knives. Broken bottle. Somethin like that. Hurt like a bitch,” Mikey replies.

“If you said it was painless I’d be worried. Thank god we took care of them. People need to fucking learn to leave you and Mike the hell alone.” Gerard mutters, bringing an antiseptic wipe up to the now unstitched wound and making gentle and careful wipes across the surface of the battered skin.

Blood is now oozing freely from the wounds, making a gooey red mess of both Mikey’s chest and Gerard’s hands, as well as the few drops that have wriggled their way down to the counter. Oli grimaces and sucks in his breath.

“I don’t know jack shit about medical procedures, but I do know how to spot something sincerely fucked up. Gee, are we going to need to take him to an actual hospital?”

“Don’t worry Oli. It’s but a scratch,” Mikey says.

“Mikey, now is not the time to reference Monty Python,” Gerard chides, fiddling with the plastic clasps of the first aid kit.

“Fuck you, loser. It is  _always_  a time to reference Monty Python,” Mikey retorts.

“Whatever. Okay, take a deep breath.”

Mikey sucks in a heavy breath and braces himself for the first pinch and pulse of pain. When it comes, it’s stronger than he was expecting. Abrupt.

Oli shudders. “Gerard...”

“No, Oliver. No. I can fix this. I  _will_  fix this,” Gerard says decidedly.

Mikey and Oli glance at each other, sharing the same look full of confusion, hope, and doubt.

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Kellin is having one of  _those_  days. He feels like complete and utter crap and even Frankie can’t fix it. That just doesn’t happen. They’re always able to fix each other, but today, Kellin’s ickyness is untouchable. 

Of course, this state of mind is really fucking helpful when you have to do a motherfucking project with a dude you have a hopeless crush on.

Vic must have had magical radar senses or some shit, because he picks up on Kellin’s sour mood.

“You alright man?” He asks. The truth is, no, he is not alright, he is very far from it, but he doesn’t want to burden someone (who isn’t Frankie. Frankie basically volunteers for dealing with this shit) with his crappy and pointless emotional problems. Kellin forces himself to perk up and grin.

“Yeah, I’m fine. We should probably work a little on our project now, don’t you think?” He says, pushing a hopefully convincing smile onto his face.

Vic, however, must’ve seen right through it, because he frowns and sets his pencil down, reaching over to close Kellin’s textbook.

“We are not gonna be able to at least half ass a project if you’re all sad and shit. We’re ditching after class. Whether you wanna or not,” Vic says, taking Kellin’s stuff and putting it away for him before putting away his own things and glancing up at the digital clock mounted on the wall to see how many minutes left of class they have.

Kellin finds himself stunned.

“Y-you don’t have to do that,” He manages to force out of his mouth.

“I may not have to, but I want to. No one deserves to feel like crap,” Vic says, giving Kellin a truthful and sweet smile.

Kellin curses his stupid fucking schoolboy crush. His heart is fucking swelling.

“I... Okay,” Kellin says at last, the primary reason he agrees being that Vic shoots him a very quick look that repeats his previous statement of ‘whether you want to or not’.

Vic grins. “Perfect. Text whoever you’ve gotta text to let them know you’ll be home a little later than usual.”

Fighting his phone out of his pocket, Kellin taps out a quick message to Frank, who sends one back in reply stating something very sexual with a winky face attached.

He doesn’t blush. What? He doesn’t!

The bell signaling the end of class rings, and Kellin’s heart may or may not have sped up.

“C’mon, babycakes. We’ve got places to go,” Vic says, locking his fingers around Kellin’s wrist tightly and half dragging, half running out of the room, Kellin hastily in tow.

“B-but were? Where are you going to take me?” Kellin asks. Vic ignores him and walks up to Andy Biersack (oh  _shit_ , oh motherfrikkin  _shit_ , Kellin tells himself not to blink, don’t make eye contact, don’t breathe to heavily, or loudly, or at all) and promptly  _sticks his hand in Andy’s back pocket_  (what the  _fuck_ , does Vic have a fucking death wish) and retrieves a key ring.  

“Taking the truck, Andy. Ditching the rest of school. Be back in time to pick your loser asses up,” Vic says, elbowing Andy in the ribs. Andy murmurs incoherently, flapping a dismissive hand at the pair.

“Spectacular. Love you honey, bye,” Vic says, standing on tiptoe to press a loud, smacking kiss to Andy’s cheek.

Kellin, in short, is dumbstruck.

“How do you know him?” He asks as they leave through the glass doors of the school.

“Andy? He’s a very good friend. We’re, ah, business associates,” Vic says, giving Kellin a glance at a sideways angle.

Kellin isn’t an idiot (most of the time). It’s clear to him that Vic means his illegal involvements.

So, he nods, pleased at the small smile that creeps its way onto Vic’s face.

Vic jabs his thumb against the ‘unlock’ button of the car key, the locks sliding down with a heavy ‘clunk’. Vic climbs up into the driver’s seat with no hesitation, while Kellin slides into the passenger side with an excess of trepidation.

Turning on the car and flashing Kellin an award winning, heart stopping (literally) smile, Vic pulls out of the parking lot and begins down the road.

“What do you wanna do?”  Vic inquires once they’re about halfway down the road from the school.

Kellin seriously doesn’t know, and he voices as much.

“That’s okay,” Vic replies. “We can just drive around for a little bit until one of us has a revelation.”

Conveniently, Kellin has his revelation then. He remembers a game he used to play with his father; they’d drive around aimlessly, with Kellin saying ‘left’ ‘right’ or ‘straight ahead’ whenever they came to a stop sign.

“I had a revelation!” Kellin all but shouts.

“Great! Where do you wanna go?”

“I don’t know. Stop looking at me like that, this is part of the revelation! My dad and I used to play this game whenever we were in the car and not in a hurry to wherever it was we were going. Basically, he’d drive, and I’d tell him to go left or right or straight ahead until we found ourselves somewhere that either served ice cream or burgers. Preferably both. You up for that?” He asks.  

The grin that plasters itself across Vic’s features could have killed Kellin, seriously. “Fuck yeah I am. When do we start?”

“This stoplight.”

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“I FUCKING SAID RIGHT!”

“THIS IS RIGHT!”

“NO YOU DUMBASS, THIS IS LEFT!”

“WELL IT’S RIGHT IN MEXICO! YOU’RE RACIST!”

Kellin throws his hands in the air in mock exasperation. Both boys are laughing extremely hard, their yelling mixed in with laughter so loud that Kellin is sure people on the street can hear it coming out of the truck.

“HOW THE FUCK AM I RACIST IF I’M SITTING IN A TRUCK WITH A MEXICAN?”

“SEE? Oh shit we’re in the rich part of town. How the fuck did we end up here? YOU AND YOUR SHITTY ASS DIRECTIONS KELLIN, YOU LANDED US IN STUCK-UP DOUCHEBAG CENTERAL.”

“WELL IF  _SOMEONE_  FUCKING TURNED RIGHT, WE WOULDN’T BE HERE!”

“I  _TURNED RIGHT_!”

“I AM GOING TO KICK YOUR ASS FUENTES, JUST YOU WAIT!”

“I’M  _SO SCARED_!”

“YOU FUCKING BETTER BE! NOW FUCKING TURN RIGHT!”

Vic jerks the steering wheel to the right, throwing the truck down the direction Kellin requested in an insanely unnecessarily reckless way.

“I SAID TURN RIGHT, NOT GET US KILLED!” Kellin shouts, flailing his arms in an attempt to convey his annoyance. Vic rolls his eyes.

“Like I would wreck Andy’s truck. I may be a fucking idiot, but now way in  _hell_ am I going to fuck up Andy’s precious baby. He’d gut me, eat my intestines and use my skin as a blanket and my bones as jewelry. I shit you not.”

Kellin crosses his arms and narrows his eyes.

“You are  _so_  shitting me. It shows on your face. Your stupid, ugly, stupid face.”

“You said stupid twice,” Vic says with a smirk.

“And?” Is Kellin’s only form of response.

“Nothing, nothing.”

“You’re stupid, you know that?”

“Really? I had no idea.”

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“WILL YOU STOP DOING COOKIES AND GET BACK ON THE ACTUAL ROAD?”

The boys had drifted from the main road (as Kellin’s direction of ‘left’ had landed them there) and Vic had completely ignored Kellin’s request to get them  _out_  of the parking lot and simply spun the vehicle around in circles, pretending Kellin’s protests are nonexistent.

Eventually, however, Vic feels himself begin to get a little motion sick and brings the truck to a stop.

“Fucking finally!” Kellin proclaimes, leaning forward and resting his head on the dashboard.

Stealing a quick glance at the clock on the radio, Vic is a little more than relieved to see they have approximately an hour left before they have to be back at school to rescue everyone.

Kellin better ‘left, right’ their asses to some food quickly.

“Okay, okay. Straight ahead, and then left.”

“As you wish, your highness.”

Kellin was silent for a moment, before answering. “Did you just... Try to seduce me with a movie reference?”

“What? No! Not at all! I would never-“

Okay, so maybe Vic had intentionally referenced  _The Princess Bride_. Maybe. He isn’t going to admit that to anyone, you can’t make him. Besides, Kellin is really fucking pretty and  _very_  far out of Vic’s league.

“You’re lucky I can’t tell if you’re blushing or not ‘cause your face is so tan.”

Vic blushes harder. Kellin pokes his cheek.

“Yup, you’re blushing. Cutie.”

“Did you just call me cute?”

“What? No! Oh hey, look! A Dairy Queen! Stop this car right now, I want me a goddamn Blizzard and since  _you_  can’t tell the difference between right and left you’re paying,” Kellin says in a rush, jumping out of the car and avoiding any further confrontation.

Vic rolls his eyes and follows Kellin into the restaurant.

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Two cheeseburgers, a shared basket of French fries and two Blizzards later, Kellin is grinning like a madman and laughing at almost every single thing Vic says, and vice versa. Vic really doesn’t know when this became part of the plan – All he had wanted to do in the first place was cheer Kellin up, and okay, yeah, maybe he’d had a teensy crush on him beforehand - but now it has turned into full blown infatuation. He can’t deny it.

Hoo boy, is he fucked.

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Kellin’s crush has gone from ‘I can contain this’ to ‘oh my god I want to pin you to the door and kiss the fuck out of you’.

This is  _not_  easy to contain,  _at all_. Plus, he doesn’t even know if Vic swings that way! For all Kellin knows, he likes girls! And tits!

This is terrible, just terrible.

Nonetheless, Kellin is going to sit in the fucking passenger seat and he is going to be a patient, normal human and he is going to survive the car ride back to the prison. School. He means school.

“Hey, thank you for this. I really do feel a lot better now,” Kellin says, hand resting on the door handle, halfway ready to leave. Vic grins and waves a hand dismissively.

“No problem. It was fun. But seriously, you need to learn your lefts and rights, because you kept getting them wrong.”

“You’re stupid,” Kellin laughs.

“And you’re prissy. See you around?” Vic asks, not even considering for a moment that he should keep the hopeful tone of his voice in check.

“Yeah, see you around.”

With a small smile, Kellin slides out of the car and went to go find Frankie. He is going to tell him _everything_.

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“Okay Mikey, I think you’re done now,” Gerard says, finally closing the first aid kit. The cleaning and re-stitching of Mikey’s wounds had taken so, so much longer than Gerard had originally anticipated. Apparently, during the first round of cleaning he did, he’d missed a piece of glass buried in Mikey’s upper arm, and this time had to remove it, hoping and praying an infection hadn’t set in.

Gerard is mentally cursing those fucking bastards, inexcusably glad that they’re dead. Oli had left a while ago, about forty minutes since Gerard had found the piece of glass, obviously frazzled and worried.

Mikey and Gerard, however, are fucking exhausted. Gerard knows for a fact now that he never wants to be a surgeon.

“C’mon, let’s go fall asleep on the couch because there’s no way in hell I am going to be able to climb stairs right now,” Gerard says, watching as Mikey delicately tugs his shirt back on and follows Gerard to the couch, where they promptly collapse, Gerard having a presence of mind for just long enough to pull one of the blankets off of the back of the couch over them.

He’s asleep before he could even close his eyes.

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“Awwwwww!”

No. Gerard is tired. He’s not going to wake up. No.

“You two are adorable.”

Gerard can feel Mikey stir against his chest, the younger boy somehow having managed to tangle himself expertly against his older brother in his sleep.

“I want cuddles too!”

The blanket lifts, and cold air rushes to spread goose bumps across Gerard’s now exposed arm. They quickly sink back beneath his skin, however, when another warm body cuddles up against his side. Gerard pries his eyes open long enough to see Oli huddled against him too, and then to see Tony smile and nudge around until he’s also cuddled up against them.

“Like a bunch of puppies,” Mikey murmurs, the vibrations pulsing out against Gerard’s ribcage.

“I like puppies,” Oli says, and Mikey hums back in agreement.

“Someone take a picture, this is our next Christmas card,” Andy says. Gerard looks up long enough to see the grin on his face. It’s a mixture of teasing, affection and overall sweet. Like sugar. Ew.

“No picture. No,” Tony mutters.

“Shut up and let me sleep losers,” Gerard finally manages to say.

They fall silent, and the noises of the TV coming on and the other boys settling into the surrounding chairs help drag Gerard back into a deep, peaceful, and overall comforting sleep.

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“Frankie? Frankie, I’ve started naming mine and Vic’s babies,” Kellin calls out into his house.

“And I’ve named this sandwich. His name is Armando. Armando was created so he could die.”

Kellin rolls his eyes and walks into the kitchen, leaning against the door frame and watching his friend stuff his face with the (truly) massive sandwich.

“You’re weird, Frankie. You’re lucky I love you. Anyway, I may or may not totally and completely want Vic’s babies.”

Frank raises an eyebrow.

“I’m serious. I want his babies.”

“I’m also serious. Either grow a pair and tell him this, or shut up. I’m tired of your whining and crying and desperate need for Vic’s dick in your ass.”

“I don’t  _whine_ -”

“But you do have a desperate need for his dick in your ass. Seriously, Kells. Chill. Come here and eat one of Armando’s siblings. Watch a movie with me. Sleep. Plan out how you’re going to tell Vic this. But for now, I wanna hear all about what you did today.”

Kellin grins and gladly begins to recount word for word the events of the day.

Who cares about how Kellin catches himself grinning like a maniac with every thought?

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	12. Chapter 12

On the side of the well-beaten sidewalk, outside a small country store with yellow and flickering bulbs, a headline glares up at the people passing by from a rack of local newspapers.

Bold and black and all around harsh, the front page proclaimes the unsafety of the town.

“ _Gas station destroyed and vandalized; Police say criminals are still at large._ ”

People walk past it, not giving the headline even a fraction of the attention it begs for. Everyone ignores it, except for one boy with a hood pulled far over his head. This boy glances at it, did a double take, shot quick glances over his shoulder before grabbing the paper and stuffing it inside his jacket.

Rain begins to pour from the clouds, slowly at first, the drops no bigger than a penny, and progressively it pours quicker and quicker and the drops increase in size, until heavy, cold, drops the size of a quarter are pounding relentlessly against the boy’s shivering frame. 

His feet and the pavement are the most hypnotizing thing as he keeps his face and gaze directed downward. He can’t afford for someone to recognize him, especially not now, not with a stack of newspapers on the side of the street with a sketch artist’s rendition of his face plastered on them.

For a drawing based off of witness testimony, it’s scarily accurate. If someone were to compare his face and the sketch, they’d see it and say they’re the same person.

God fucking dammit.

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 Kellin is curled happily around something warm. Emphasis on  _happily_. He’s more than perfectly content in this moment.

That is, until the warm thing starts poking his cheek.

“Nooooooo,” Kellin whines, clinging to the warm thing like it’s the last lifejacket on a sinking boat.

“Yeeeeees,” The thing whines back in a mocking tone, poking Kellin’s face again.

He scowls and tries to bury his face in the warm thing.

“Dude, stop, that fucking tickles!”

Oh yeah. Frankie is here.

“You’re warm fucker, stay still and I’ll stop tickling you,” Kellin says, his voice muffled by Frank’s shirt.

Frank relents, falling still and curling himself back around Kellin.

“If someone were to walk in here right now, they’d think we’re very gay,” Frank muses.

“Well, we are very gay. Just not for each other. They probably wouldn’t understand that though, huh?” Kellin replies. Frank chuckles.

“No, probably not. We should maybe get up soon though. It’s like, two in the afternoon.”

“Well you’re really gay. And stupid. And gay.”

“Your insults suck ass when you’re tired.”

“Everyone’s insults suck ass when they’re tired. Stop holding me to impossible standards Frankie.”

“Never,” Frank declares as he pries Kellin off of him and wiggles his way down and off the bed.

“I fucking hate you. I’m cold now, you asshole,” Kellin groans. He gathers the blankets and pulls them close to his body, flopping onto his stomach and nuzzling his pillow.

 “Poor baby. Get your ass up.”

With that statement, the blankets are yanked violently away from him. Kellin makes an inhuman noise in response, flailing his arms in the direction the blankets were taken.

“Up, assfuck, or I’ll tell Vic you already named your children.”

Kellin pushes himself up and off the bed, staring at Frank with wide eyes.

“You wouldn’t  _dare_.”

Frank laughs and bolts out of the room and down the stairs, Kellin on his heels.

“Oh, would you look at that! You’re up!” Frank cackles, collapsing against the kitchen counter where their chase had ended.

“Have I ever told you how much I hate you?” Kellin glowers, crossing his arms.

“Love you too. Pancakes?”

“...Sure.”

//////////////////////////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

Oli sits on a park bench, fiddling with his phone, trying to decide whether or not he wants to text Andy and tell him about this.

The newspaper sitting next to him is a little water damaged, but it isn’t anything truly significant. You can still read the print and see the picture that is so undoubtedly Oli. There is one of Vic next to him, and although it isn’t as obvious, the traits are similar enough that you can tell who it was.

To put it shortly, they are so, so fucked. Oli wonders how in the hell the cashier got a good enough view of either of their faces to describe them to a sketch artist. And there sre people that could identify them! Their teachers, their classmates, holy fuck.

He quit fiddling with his phone immediately and texts Andy, and then deciding better and texting the whole group.

**To: All contacts in the group ‘Fucknuts’: Guys, we’re fucked. Like, hella fucked.  Meet @ Vic’s?**

Beeps indicating responses flood in within seconds, directions being exchanged and confirmations of Oli’s request causing the phone to make relentless noise.

Once the phone comes to a slow silence, Oli gathers all his strength and begins the slow trudge to Vic’s house.

For the first time that he can remember, Oli is genuinely scared.

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The room is silent. Painfully silent. Seriously, Gerard feels like the silence is wrapping its hands around his throat and slowly cutting off his air supply.

Oli and Vic’s sketches glare up at him, paired with the headline and article. Everyone in the room is visibly shaken, even Andy.

“Maybe... Maybe we just got too reckless.” Andy says at last, his voice hoarse and cracking, even more painful to hear than the silence.

“We have to do something. We can’t just sit here and let this boil. We gotta take the metaphorical pot off the stove and somehow get this shit to simmer,” Ashley says, leaning forward so he can get a little better view of the article.

“I… Yeah. I’ll think of something. For now, uh, everyone but Oli, Vic and Gerard can go. Sorry guys, I’ll let you know the details and shit in a bit,” Andy says.

The room empties slowly, Tony muttering things about driving the people who walked, people muttering back at him. Patrick throws one last glance behind his shoulder, looking downright terrified.

As soon as they’re all alone, Andy buries his face in his shaking hands.

“What are we going to do, what are we going to  _do_?” Andy says. Gerard flinches, if he didn’t know better, he’d say Andy is crying.

“We can’t lose you guys. We fucking can’t. I won’t fucking stand for it. We have to do something,  _anything_. I will literally sell my soul if it means you guys get to stay.” 

Oli scoots forward and rests his head against Andy’s knee.

“I’m scared,” Oli whispers, hardly loud enough for everyone else to hear.

After a few moments and a couple shaky breaths, Andy replies: “Me too.”

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“Hey Frankie, you have to come look at this!” Kellin calls.

“What? What is it?” Frank replies, reappearing from the living room and coming into the kitchen where Kellin had decided the leftover pancakes from early in the morning are a good lunch item as well.

“Look,” Kellin says and thrusts the newspaper into his friend’s hands.

Frank’s face immediately loses all color. “Holy fucking shit.”

“Yeah. That’s Vic, and that’s that lanky shit that keeps trying to kill me with his eyes, right? Gerard’s friends?”

Frank nods and hands the paper back. “That’s definitely them. No doubt about it.”

“It says here that they robbed a gas station, and the police suspect that they were responsible for that jewelry store robbery a few weeks back, as well as some other things prior to that. Frank, what the fuck have you gotten yourself into with that boy?”

“Touché, motherfucker. Our boys are in that shit together. Should we do something?” Frank asks, shuffling his feet.

“I don’t fucking know. What could  _we_  possibly do?” Kellin says, setting the paper aside and sitting in one of the chairs situated at the table.

“Ask them, maybe? I have Gerard’s number,” Frank suggests.

“But then we’d be putting ourselves on the line too,” Kellin points out.

“And? Would you rather Vic and Oli got sent to prison, or that we put some shit on the line to make sure they’re okay, even if it’s only for a little bit?”

Kellin sighs and runs his hands through his hair.

“You should give Gerard a call.”

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The initial shock of Andy and Oli’s proclamation of fear has faded slightly when Gerard’s phone rings. Vic looks at him with a raised eyebrow when Gerard reads the caller ID.

“It’s Frank,” He says, his voice shaking.

“Answer it. Go over that way, we’ll be okay,” Vic says, gesturing towards the kitchen.

“Yeah, alright,” Gerard replies.

With a deep breath, he answers the phone.

“Hello?”

“Gerard? Hi, it’s Frank.”

“Hi,” Gerard says, shifting his weight awkwardly. His brain really isn’t functioning right now, how the fuck do you conversation?

“I’m just going to cut to the chase: Kellin and I saw the headline, and we want to help in any way we can.”

Gerard freezes.

“No, I can’t let you do that,” He says, his voice dropping any nervousness the second the words are out of Frank’s mouth.

“You’re funny. It’s kind of obvious you all are in a lot of shit right now, and going anywhere or with anyone with a criminal record will be the first place they look. Like fuck they’re going to check a couple teenagers that have completely clean record’s houses,” Frank says.

Gerard has to admit, he makes a compelling point. But he can’t do this, all he can think of is Andy and Juliet, and he doesn’t want that for Frank.

“I’m sorry, but I just. I can’t. I don’t want to risk you two getting caught up in all… this,”  He says, making vague circle motions with his hands that he realizes Frank can’t see and feels like an idiot for making.

“You’re right,  _you_  can’t risk it. But  _we_  can. And  _we_  are willing.”

“Frank, no. This is... No. You’ll get hurt, both of you, I can’t have that. I don’t want to live with myself if something happens to either of you. Especially you,” Gerard replies, the last two words nearly being lost because of how softly Gerard says them.

“You keep saying  _if_. There are a lot of probabilities, and even though it is important to think about the negative ones, Oli and Vic need help  _now_. Kellin and I are willing to do anything we can.”

Gerard sighs heavily.

“I’ll talk to Andy. No promises anything will come of it though, okay?”

“Okay. Talk to you later?”

“Yeah. Bye Frankie.”

“Bye Gerard.”

With the dial tone buzzing in his ear, Gerard manages to hang up the phone and wanders back into the living room.

“So?” Vic prompts.

Gerard takes a deep breath. “Kellin and Frank want to help us.”

“What? No. No way,” Andy says.

“That’s what I told him, but he was pretty insistent. He says they’re willing to help in any way they can.”

“Wait. Hang on. I have an idea, sort of. Would they be willing to let Oli and I stay with them?” Vic says, leaning forward, eyes ablaze with a fragment of hope.

“I’d assume so,” Gerard replies.

“Perfect. So, Oli and I stay with either Kellin or Frank, maybe split us up and one stays with Kellin and the other with Frank, and we’re out of the public eye and shit. Get someone to hack into the school’s attendance system and mark us as present every day, and we’ll be in the clear.”

The room is silent for a few painstaking moments.

“I don’t want to do it, but it’s not like we have very many options,” Andy says at last. “Give him a call.”

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“Okay, so. Here’s the thing: Kellin and I usually stay together at one’s house. Our parents aren’t too spectacular at the parent thing, so we stay together and help each other out and shit. Does that work for you guys? It’ll be a little cramped, since there’s going to be four of us.”

A small group of people sat in the living room of Frank’s house, Vic and Oli with backpacks containing what they deemed necessary to have with them while they hide from the law. Andy is sitting next to Oli, looking, to put it bluntly, absolutely paranoid about everyone’s safety. Gerard and Frank are next to each other, legs touching, trying their best to focus on the matter at hand rather than each other. Kellin is in the floor (spread eagle like a weirdo) and Vic is sitting on the couch a few feet away from him, staring at him like he’s a new exhibit in the freak show. All around, tensions are high, unless you’re Kellin and have consumed more than twice your body weight in caffeine in the last few hours.

“Yeah, it’ll work. I don’t think we’ll have too much problem sharing space. We do it a lot anyway,” Oli replies.

“Do you think flowers have feelings?” Kellin asks from the floor, his gaze coming back into focus for a quarter of a second before fuzzing out again.

“Also, that. You have to deal with that. Please note, it does indeed get weirder,” Frank says, gesturing to Kellin.

“Fuck you, Frankie, I am a very normal person with very normal thoughts. I just happen to be concerned about the emotional welfare of daisies. How do they feel about being called weeds? Does it hurt them? Is it like bullying, but for flowers? Is that even a thing?”

“You’re a thing. I don’t fucking know Kellin, why don’t you go ask one?” Frank responds, rolling his eyes when Kellin raises his arm to flip him off.

“You’re racist Frank,” Kellin states bluntly.

“How the everlasting fuck am I racist?”

“You insulted the flowers. You’re fucking racist.”

“Okay, I’m done with you. Vic, Oli, if you come with me I can show you where we’ll be sleeping. It’s a bit of a mess, so apologies in advance,” Frank says, standing up from the couch.

The three leave, abandoning Andy and Gerard alone with Kellin.

“What do you think, Gerard? Do flowers have feelings?”

“Um... Yes?” Gerard says, confused as to whether or not there’s even a correct answer to begin with.

“You’re a good person. What about you, tall thing? Do flowers have feelings?”

“Flowers are stupid,” Andy replies. Kellin gasps.

“FRANK! FRANK COME HERE, THE TALL ONE WITH THE PRETTY EYES CALLED THE FLOWERS STUPID! FIX IT!” He yells at the top of his voice.

“NO,” Is all he receives in response.

“You all are lucky I have the attention span of a heavily caffeinated hamster,” Kellin says, scooching on his stomach until his hand can reach Andy’s shoe. From his new position, he plays with Andy’s shoelace, perfectly distracted by the simple thread.

“Have you ever stolen a car?” Kellin asks.

“Once,” Andy replies, glancing at Gerard.

“Was it fun?”

“I’m not going to answer that, because I have a feeling you’ll go and try to steal a car if I say yes.”

“Psssshh, why would I wanna steal a car? Cars are stupid and can kill people. Cars can kill many people. At once. Cars can kill many stupid people at once. Can I steal a car?” Kellin rambles, tugging on the shoelace idly.

“Why does Frank even let you have caffeine in the first place?” Gerard asks.

“He doesn’t,” Kellin says. “I sneak into the kitchen when he isn’t looking and down a whole bunch. Apparently it’s not a nice thing to do, but I do it anyway.”

“Sorry guys, is he bothering you?” Frank says, reappearing with Vic and Oli close behind him.

“Not really,” Andy says. “He’s kind of entertaining. Like a small, hyperactive kitten.”

“Screw you pretty eyes, I am not a kitten. I’m a motherfucking  _tiger_. Roar, bitch,” Kellin says, smacking Andy’s shoe a couple times, as if that will punctuate his point.

“Okie doke Kells, whatever you say. C’mon, up. You have to release Andy’s shoe so he can go be illegal and shit,” Frank says, walking around the couch and picking up Kellin’s arm and tugging it upward.

“Nooooo. I like this shoe. It’s a good shoe.”

“You’re weird as fuck. That’s it, I’m cutting you off from caffeine forever if you don’t get up right now.”

Kellin scrambles to his feet. “Can I keep the caffeine now?”

“No. I lied. Quick, Andy, get out of here now before he reattaches himself to your shoe!” Frank says, jumping on Kellin and holding him back just long enough for Andy to duck out the door. Gerard chooses to hang back so he can say goodbye to Frank.

Kellin fake sniffles and punches in the general direction of Frank’s arm. “You’re a meanie beanie. That was an amazing shoe.”

“Uh huh, cool. Why don’t you go show Oli and Vic the rest of the house?” Frank suggests, widening his eyes and trying to communicate to Kellin with a look that he wants to talk to Gerard, preferably alone.

A grin races its way across Kellin’s face, comprehension flooding with it. “Okay!” he says, gesturing wildly and talking about stairs as he leads Vic and Oli upstairs to show them the rest of this house.

“Hi,” Gerard breathes after a moment.

“Hi,” Frank smiles back.

Like a fucking otherworldly force, they aren’t even aware that they’re holding each other until the act is already committed, Frank encased tightly in Gerard’s arms, one of Gerard’s hands at the back of Frank’s skull, the other tight around his waist, keeping him as close as he possibly can. Frank is holding on to Gerard just as hard, like if he lets go, they’ll float away.

“How do we always end up holding each other like this?” Gerard asks, his voice muffled because of how he’s got his face pressed into Frank’s neck.

“Damned if I know. I’m not complaining though, definitely not complaining,” Frank says, pulling Gerard impossibly closer to him and sighing happily.

“I should get going,” Gerard whispers after a long while.

“I want you to stay.”

“I know. And I want to stay. I want to stay forever. But I can’t. Andy’s probably freaking out already.”

“Stay safe, please,” Frank says after they’ve pried themselves apart.

“I will. I promise,” Gerard says, running his hand affectionately down the side of Frank’s face. Frank absentmindedly leans into Gerard’s touch.

“Bye, Frankie,” Gerard whispers.

“Bye Gee.”

And with nothing more than a quick kiss on the lips, Gerard is out the door and gone.

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	13. Chapter 13

The cemetery is empty. Desolate. It’s secluded, nestled back into the hills, perfectly silent, and for that Andy is grateful. Right now, he doesn’t think he could take the company of people or the noise of the world.

He cuts the engine and sits in his truck, a little disconnected from the world around him.

It’s been three or so years, and he still hasn’t let himself actually grieve. He’s almost numb. No. He is. He’s numb. Positively numb.

The thing is, Andy has always tried to keep everyone safe and tries his best to keep the peace between themselves and other gangs. When they were all a little younger and way more reckless, back when the gang first started up, they’d made enemy after enemy and fought war after war. Alliances were made and destroyed, but after Juliet, Andy had severed every contact they had and built their ‘army’ from the ground up, twice as ruthless and three times as cunning.

Now, there is no room at all for error. Before there was no care for the execution of a poorly drafted plan.

If they even so much as forgot a fingerprint in a plan now, they’d be dead, and this time they care.

Andy finally drags himself out of his car, his boots hitting the damp grass with a soft thump.

He already knows where he’s going, even though he’s only been there once. The map in his head is sharp and clear, in high definition. The smells and the sensations from the last time   he’d been there are still alive and bright in his mind, overriding any possible current ambiances he could be feeling. 

When he comes to a stop, he doesn’t exactly want to face the headstone in front of him. Guilt consumes him, making his legs shake and his stomach churn.

Knowing that he won’t be able to stand successfully for too much longer, he sits down on the grass, turned towards the headstone, the name and date glaring up at him, as if it were judging him. Blaming him.

And he knows. Andy knows that this is his fault. Shifting the blame anywhere else but towards himself wouldn’t be right, because this is all on him. Every last word, every last drop of blood, every last breath.

It’s all his fault and it will never be anything less.

Absently, he picks a daisy that’s growing beside the headstone and twirls it between his fingers.

After too long, Andy finally looks at the headstone. Reading it is far more of a challenge than just looking at it.

_Juliet Nicole Simms_.

The name weighs heavy on his mind, rough like the stone it’s carved into.

He reaches out and touches it, rubs his fingers in the grooves of the letters, Andy finds himself wishing he could remember how her skin felt. All he really knows is that her skin was soft, the polar opposite texture of her headstone. He remembers her touches and her kisses and her laugh and everything comes crashing down on him like someone’s pulled all the pillars out from beneath the Acropolis.

For the first time in what has been years, he says two words he very nearly swore to never say again.

“I’m sorry.”

The words are choked, hardly there, shattering the otherwise pristine silence.

Shivers shoot up and down his spine, causing his entire body to tremor for a minute.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so,  _so_  fucking sorry,” He says, dropping his head into his hands, shaking again, but not crying. Never crying.

Warm air fills his lungs when he breathes in deep, the air surprisingly muggier than it usually is at this time of year. The atmosphere settles around him, warm, warm and flushed like his cheeks feel, like he’s sure they look.

Nonetheless, he feels cold. So cold he’s shivering, like he’s got his own bubble of cold shielding him from any kind of possible warmth that he could’ve been feeling.

A breeze picks up and tousles the grass, the stems of the daisies around her headstone bowing, the gentle white-and-pink petals touching the stone softly. The blades of grass bend too, but they don’t dip nearly as low as the daisies.

He realizes he’s only distracting himself from the inevitable wave of memories that are surging just below the surface of his consciousness. Remembering is something he’s never really done, never really let himself do.

If he’s actually going to do this, actually going to let himself be submerged in the memories, Andy figures he should get back to his truck, so at least he’s somewhere familiar and mostly safe.

Andy mutters a goodbye and yet another apology to the headstone, dropping the daisy idly to ground, already a little detached from the world, preparing himself to totally let the blockade down and  _remember_.

When he reaches his truck, he stands outside the driver’s side door and breathes, just breathes, for a moment, hand resting on the door handle.

With a final burst of ‘fuck it’ and the pound of memories against his skull, he jerks open the door and climbs into the car.

Resting against the driver’s seat, he leans back and just lets himself remember, for the first time ever.

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_His intentions had never been to anger anybody. He didn’t think any of the other gangs would take a little arson as a personal offense, but yet, here he is, face to face with the leader of another gang, harsh words and threats that are most definitely valid being thrown at Andy, silence on Andy’s part. Andy doesn’t want to anger anyone further, so he takes the verbal abuse and carefully plots how he’s going to get away._

_“Listen,” Andy says, interrupting the man. “I don’t understand why you’re so pissy about this. I burned down a goddamned bar. Why the fuck are you acting like a two year old? Stop crying over some spilled fuckin’ milk and grow the fuck up.”_

_The man’s face goes an unflattering shade of crimson and he spits at Andy’s boots._

_“Count your fucking lucky stars that I’ve got the self-restraint to not break every bone in your body,” The man practically growls._

_“I’m not gonna count jack shit. It’s broad daylight, dumbass. Besides, what are you? Fucking scared to get in a fight?”_

_“Oh that fucking does it,” The man snarls, leaping forward and wrapping his hands around Andy’s throat._

_They fall to the ground, Andy kicking and throwing punches, thrashing around and finally throwing the man off of him and to the sidewalk beside him._

_Andy jumps to his feet and draws his gun, just as the other man leaps up too, drawing his own weapon._

_The two stand still for a minute, guns aimed in between the other’s eyes._

_“Damn,” Andy says, feigning remorse. “I wish I was sorry for this.”_

_“What do you-” The man begins to say, but he falls silent._

_Andy has pulled the trigger, the bullet blowing apart the other man’s skull, blood pooling beneath his collapsed body, drenching the cement._

_He shakes his head and clicks his tongue, tucking his gun back into the waistband of his jeans._

_“What a pity. Not,” Andy laughs._

_It’s all too easy to walk away from the body, but something is tugging in his gut. A sense of foreboding with an unknown cause is nauseating him, disorienting him._

_Although, it’s more than likely unfounded._

_:::::_

_When he gets back home, Juliet is curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, asleep, a forgotten movie playing on the screen. It’s pretty late, so he doesn’t mind or really care that she fell asleep before he got back to say goodnight._

_He smiles, turning off the TV and walking to the couch, bending down and scooping Juliet – still wrapped in the blanket – up and carrying her gently upstairs. Andy lowers her to the bed softly, and she hardly stirs, although she does shift a little when he sets his gun on the nightstand and climbs up on the bed next to her._

_As if Juliet automatically senses his presence in her sleep, she moves towards him and buries her head in his chest. He tugs the comforter out from under them and pulls it over them, curling around her himself and slowly, slowly, drifting off to sleep._

_:::::_

_Andy wakes with the morning light to find himself alone in the bed. For a moment, he panics, fearing the worst, but his anxiety plummets when he hears the noise of the radio and the clanking of kitchenware._

_Dragging himself out of bed proves to be a challenge, his limbs heavy, but he manages to stumble out of bed and put on some clean clothes before tripping gracelessly over his own feet down the stairs and into the kitchen._

_“Morning, sunshine,” Juliet says, looking up at him from the pan of eggs she’s stirring._

_“Morning,” He replies, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist, dropping a kiss on the curve of her shoulder._

_“I made breakfast,” She says._

_“So I see. And I love you for it.”_

_Juliet snorts. “You’d still love me even if I didn’t cook for you.”_

_Andy pretends to ponder the statement for a moment. “I guess I would.”_

_She laughs. “Be useful and set the table, please?”_

_“No,” Andy says as he gets plates out of the cupboard and sets them on the table._

_“Would you put some toast in the toaster?” She asks._

_“You demand so much of me, woman,” Andy says as he does as Juliet asked._

_“I don’t demand **that**  much,” Juliet says. “You’re being terribly overdramatic.”_

_Andy scoffs. “I am the perfect amount of dramatic.”_

_She laughs again, that beautiful, sparkling laugh that Andy lives for._

_By then, the eggs are done and the toast is up, and after a moment of situation they sit at the table and start to eat._

_About halfway through the meal, Juliet speaks._

_“I’ve gotta go home after this,” She says, a little dismal._

_“You need me to walk you there?” Andy offers._

_Juliet shakes her head. “No, it’s okay, I don’t want you to get caught up in my parents fighting again. It’s probably best if I just go home on my own.”_

_“Are you sure?” He asks._

_She sighs. “Yeah, I’m sure. Don’t worry about me, Andy, I’ll be alright.”_

_He’s visibly uneasy. “If you say so.”_

_:::::_

_He gives her a kiss before she leaves. It’s short, but sweet, and full of as many emotions as Andy thinks he can shove into one kiss._

_“Be safe, okay? I love you,” Andy says, cupping the side of her face, looking into her eyes and hoping she understands that he means every single word._

_“I’ll try. I love you too,” Juliet replies, standing on her tiptoes and pressing another kiss to his lips._

_“Okay,” He says, and she’s out the door and gone._

_That nauseating, disorienting feeling bubbles up in his stomach with the close of the door behind her._

_He shudders and finds his gun to go patrol the area for any intruders or angry other members for another gang._

_:::::_

_It’s exactly 9:31 PM when Andy receives the first call. He doesn’t recognize this number, but this is the phone he uses for gang-related business only, so if they have this number, it must be important, so he answers it._

_“Hello?”_

_Silence, save for the crackle of the phone line._

_“Hello?” He says again._

_This time, someone speaks, and his heart plummets._

_“A-Andy?”_

_It’s Juliet, and her voice is trembling, near tears._

_“Fuck, Juliet,” He says, concern accelerating rapidly in his chest. “What’s wrong?”_

_She breathes shakily before speaking._

_“W-what you did was unforgivable, so t-this is your payback. W-we’ve got your p-precious girlfriend and you’ll both be d-damn lucky if you ever see each other a-again,” Juliet says, obviously reading something pre-written for her, choking on tears that are being held back._

_“Juliet,” He says, insistent. “What’s wrong? What the fuck is going on?”_

_“Andy, Andy, whatever you did, whoever you killed, or hurt, or whatever, these people, they’re angry, and they grabbed me off of the side of the street and **Andy** , they’re going to hurt me as revenge, they’ve told me terrible things,  **terrible** , Andy, Andy  **please** , help-”_

_Her begging is cut off abruptly by someone taking away the phone and speaking instead._

_“Listen up and listen up good, Biersack. We’ve got your pretty little girl with us here, and you know that guy you shot? That happened to be our **friend**. And we don’t take kindly to losing our good friends. Just like you’re not going to take too kindly to losing your truly beautiful girlfriend. Shame that you had to do what you did...” The person says, trailing off, leaving the sentence open._

_“You bastard, I swear to fucking god that if you hurt her, I will crush every bone in your body and force you to eat your own intestines. Don’t you fucking lay a hand on her.”_

_“Oh, it’s too late for that,” They say, and Juliet’s screams of terror begin to fill the earpiece of the phone._

_“Juliet! Juliet!” He screams, but the person on the other end of the line hangs up, leaving Juliet’s screams ringing in his ears._

_:::::_

_With shaking hands, he calls the only person that he thinks can help: Oli._

_“Mate, what’s up? It’s getting late,” Comes Oli’s voice once he picks up._

_“Juliet’s in trouble.”_

_There’s silence on Oli’s end of the line._

_“What?”_

_Andy takes a deep breath and begins to explain._

_“When we burned down that bar a while back, it was in the territory of another gang, and the leader of that gang came up to me the other day. We got into a fight, and I wound up killing him. The remaining members of that gang got really pissed and decided to kidnap Juliet as some kind of revenge, and they’re hurting her, really hurting her,” Andy spews._

_Oli breathes in deep._

_“Did they ask for anything? Money? Territory?”_

_“No. All they said was that they didn’t take kindly to losing their good friends and that it was a shame that I did what I did. I think that all that they want is to hurt me by hurting Juliet.”_

_Oli breathes deep again. “Well, that’s obviously working. Do you have any kind of phone number that we could trace the location of?”_

_Andy shakes his head, but then realizes that Oli can’t see him. “No,” He says, “It was a private number.”_

_“Jesus. This is some deep shit.”_

_“I know,” Andy says, still shaking._

_“Obviously calling the police isn’t an option,” Oli observes._

_Andy snorts. “No shit. I don’t want to get arrested on murder charges and whatever the fuck else they find out._

_“Could we try to find wherever it is they’re keeping her, just on our own?” Oli proposes._

_“This town is far too big. It’d take weeks, and by then, god knows what they’ll have done to her. She could be dead by then.”_

_Oli sucks in a sharp breath. “Let’s not think about that. Do you need me to come over?”_

_“Yes. Please. I think I’ll go insane if I don’t have some kind of company or some shit right now.”_

_Andy hears a door close, and Oli says “On my way” before hanging up, leaving Andy alone with his thoughts, albeit temporarily, but nonetheless, alone is alone for however long (or short) it may wind up being._

_:::::_

_When Oli shows up, Andy is still shaking, panicking big time._

_“Fuck,” Oli says, walking up to him and grabbing his shoulders._

_“Alright, Andy, I need you to breathe, okay? Inhale, exhale, right? Breathe with me. In, out, in, out, in, out. Feel better now?” Oli asks, coaxing Andy into breathing a rhythm that could be considered stable until he stops shaking and appears to be calmer. Well, as calm as the situation will allow._

_‘We’ve got to find her,” Andy says, curling and uncurling his fists, the tension rapidly returning to his body._

_“You said it yourself, Andy, it’s basically impossible. All we can do right now is wait and hope. I’ll stay with you for as long as you need,” Oli consoles._

_“Then get ready to stay here forever. Fuck, I can’t lose her,” Andy says, the shaking recommencing._

_“You’re not going to Andy. That won’t happen, I promise,” Oli says._

_Andy knows he’s got nowhere else to put his faith but in Oli’s words._

_:::::_

_The next call comes at 5:13 AM. Andy is awake, having gotten up particularly early as sleep had come in short, restless bursts and he’d decided that trying to sleep is an uphill battle._

_He answers the call with shaking hands._

_“Hello?” He says tentatively._

_There’s silence for a moment, and all Andy can hear is the pound of his heartbeat._

_Until the silence is shattered by screams._

_They’re the kind that are ripped from the depths of someone’s existence, the kind that only happen when someone’s in excruciating, unstoppable pain._

_For a minute, he’s concerned that she’s going to lose her voice, but the reality of what’s happening smacks the notion right out of his brain._

_“Juliet! Juliet! Goddammit, you bastards, I’m going to kill every last one of you in the slowest fucking way possible! Juliet!” He screams, but the line goes dead, his threats going unacknowledged._

_With the dial tone ringing in his ear, Andy hangs up and all but runs downstairs, the phone still in his hands._

_Halfway down the staircase, the phone buzzes in his hands._

_Stopping, he sits on the staircase and very, very hesitantly, opens the text message._

_It’s a picture, dimly lit, but not dark enough to obscure what it is the photograph is of._

_Juliet’s face is tilted towards the camera, bloodied past recognition. Andy’s sure that if he didn’t know her as well as he does, he probably wouldn’t even be able to tell it was her. Her face is swollen and cut in a few places, and Andy feels sick.  The phone buzzes again, and the sick feeling increases._

_Cautiously, he opens the message._

_He almost vomits then and there._

_This picture is far, far worse than the last one, and the last one was terrible. It’s a clear shot of her bare chest, littered with undoubtedly deep cuts that are exposed and their severity obviously ignored. She’s tied to a chair, hands behind her back, ankles bound to the legs of the chair with what appears to be a combination of rope and duct tape._

_Her wounds are deep enough to be potentially fatal, especially considering that they’re exposed to her environment, but not deep enough that she could bleed out. It’s obvious that the people that have her don’t want that. Oh no, they want her alive, they want to wreck Andy by hurting the thing that Andy loves the most._

_He hates to admit it, but it’s working._

_:::::_

_Oli’s face goes white when Andy shows him the pictures. He swears, very quietly, nearly silent, and he hands the phone back._

_“This is bad,” Oli says._

_Andy laughs, despite the weight of the situation. “No shit.”_

_“We’ve got to help her,” Oli presses._

_“I don’t know how,” Andy says, bowing his head, defeated._

_“I might,” Oli says, bringing forth a seed of hope that Andy thought could’ve never even been brought into existence._

_:::::_

_Somehow, Oli has gathered an almost literal army of more than thirty people. Andy is beyond astounded._

_“Alright, motherfuckers! Listen up!” Oli shouts, standing up on a table that has been left in the abandoned building Oli chose as their meeting place._

_“This is literally a fucking matter of life and death. There is a girl who is being held hostage and tortured as we speak and every last one of you need to search every fucking inch of this city until this girl is found. And if **somebody**  doesn’t fucking find her, alive, or, god forbid, dead, I will personally slit all of your throats. You’ve all got my number, so fucking call me if you find even a fucking  **speck**  of evidence. Now get out of here, and I don’t want to see any of you again until this girl is found. Go. Get out of here,” Oli spits, captivating the entire room and his commands are met with muttered responses of ‘yes, sir’ and the room progressively dissipates._

_Oli jumps off of the tabletop and stands next to Andy, who is shaky, equally hopeful as he is terrified._

_“Don’t worry, these people are some of the most determined and hell-bent motherfuckers I’ve ever seen. None of them are going to come back empty handed. You’re going to get Juliet back. I promise.”_

_“I hope so,” Andy says, but deep down, in the parts of his mind that he usually ignores, he knows that Oli’s promise holds little optimism in being fulfilled._

_:::::_

_The third message comes at 12:58 PM, a day after Oli had sent out the (nearly verbatim) troops. He leaves it on the coffee table in front of him for a minute, plagued with sickness and anxiety, head in his hands. Eventually, he knows he’ll have to open the message, but he doesn’t want to, he really, really doesn’t want to, ever, preferably._

_After approximately ten minutes of hesitation and sickness, Andy grabs his phone and opens the message._

_He just about drops his phone._

_This picture is of her legs and stomach, just as destroyed as the picture they’d sent of her chest, except there’s far more bruising and what appears to be some rather severe burns among the lacerations._

_Everything is surreal. It feels like this is all some twisted, fucked up dream and he’s going to wake up soon, shaking, sweaty, and Juliet will be lying there next to him, asleep, and when he lies back down she’ll cuddle up to him subconsciously, like she always does, and everything will be okay._

_That sick feeling returns and he feels his stomach physically **lurch**._

_“Please, please, let Juliet live,” Andy begs the empty room._

_His pleads are met with silence._

_:::::_

_It has been five days since the first phone call. Five days since Andy’s entire world shattered. Five sleepless nights. Only three days since Oli unleashed his search teams on the city. And in that short, short span of time, nothing had yielded._

_Miles upon miles of the city have been searched, over and over, but nothing had happened. No one had found her._

_All he knows is that the bastards that have her have kept sending him pictures and once they were so audacious that they called him and let him hear Juliet’s screams while they hurt her, and subsequently, hurt Andy._

_His phone buzzes and jerks him from his thoughts. Andy’s heart plummets, but when he looks at the caller ID, he sees that it’s Oli._

_With a spark of hope, he answers._

_“They found her.”_

_Those are the only words Oli speaks, and that is all it takes for Andy’s heart to soar upwards and for hope and relief floods through his veins, pulsates warm in his chest._

_“How is she? Is she okay?” Andy asks._

_There’s silence on Oli’s end of the line, and the hope Andy had before rapidly dissipates._

_“I’m coming over,” Oli says, and hangs up, leaving Andy’s previous question open ended._

_:::::_

_When Oli walks in the door, his face is blank and his eyes are dark._

_“C’mon,” Oli says, monotone, face remaining expressionless. “Let’s go sit down, okay?”_

_Andy is beyond terrified as they walk into the living room._

_He sits, but Oli remains standing, eyes cast downward._

_“Is she okay?” Andy prompts._

_Oli shakes his head, and Andy’s world, heart, very **soul**  explodes and falls to the ground in smithereens._

_“Andy, I’m sorry, I’m so, so fucking sorry,” Oli says, his poker face breaking, his voice sounding strained with the choked back tears that Oli doesn’t want Andy to see._

_“Just tell me. Just say it. There’s no other way to do this other than just saying it,” Andy says._

_“She’s – she’s dead. Andy, I’m sorry, there wasn’t anything we could do, when we found her they’d shot her in the head and abandoned the warehouse and left her there for us to find. CPR would have been useless,” Oli says, obviously upset, but not as much as Andy._

_By now, Andy is crying. Even though it’s silent, Oli knows that Andy just doesn’t let people see him in any kind of emotional distressed._

_“Fuck,” He says, his voice a whisper, not even really there._

_“I’m sorry,” Oli says again. It’s really the only thing Oli can offer in this situation._

_“Do her parents know?”_

_“Yes. They called the police and an ambulance took her body.”_

_“No, do her parents **know**? Do they know that she was held hostage and tortured because I fucked up?”_

_Oli shook his head. “No. They don’t know that. What everyone thinks is that she was jumped, mugged, beat up and raped and dropped in a ditch. Which I suppose is better than knowing the truth,” Oli says._

_Andy nods, and drops his head in his hands.  He stays like that for a moment, gathering his emotions and pulling together a mask made of stone, one that he vows never to let crack._

_:::::_

_The funeral is emotionally compromising. Andy doesn’t really know what he feels. Everyone else is sad, people are crying, there are flowers every-fucking-where, but Andy doesn’t feel anything. Not even a little. There is nothing. He is emotionless._

_Juliet’s mother steps down from the microphone, having finished the eulogy of her child, sobbing harder than anyone in the room, which is understandable. She just lost the girl she’d given birth to, the girl she’d watched come into existence, grow, and ultimately, die. Andy now has a visual aid for the statement ‘You’re not supposed to live to bury your children’._

_Andy can relate to how Juliet’s mother feels. Of course, it’s nothing like losing a child, but it feels like someone’s blown a hole in his soul. He lost the one person he knew would never betray him, the one person he knew would always, **always**  love him._

_Somehow, he’s lost his grip on the present, buried deep in his mind, and now they’re at the cemetery, and he’s watching as her coffin is lowered into the ground._

_There’s a bouquet of flowers for people to throw into the grave before they start pouring the dirt back into the earth, and absently Andy picks up a flower and walks to the edge of the grave._

_He looks down at the flower in his hand. It’s a white carnation with red tips, and inattentively he wonders how they got like that._

_People around him are tossing flowers and saying their goodbyes, but Andy still stands at the edge, dazed._

_Finally, he tosses the flower onto her coffin, opting to say his goodbye silently._

**_Goodbye. I love you._ **

_:::::_

_He doesn’t go back to her grave. He doesn’t talk to Juliet’s parents. He doesn’t talk to anyone, really, aside from Oli._

_As a result, he loses nearly all of his connections. Andy supposes it’s better to start over, anyway. It’d be easier for him to appear as a ruthless leader if no one (save for Oli) knows._

_His mask of stone remains uncracked and her screams are still ringing in his ears._

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When Andy more or less comes to in his truck, his stomach is churning and he feels almost as if Juliet has just finished speaking, the remnants of her voice reverberating in his ears.

He shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair, like he can get all the memories to leave if he just tries hard enough.

But he knows that that isn’t the case, and will never be the case.

With a sigh, he starts his truck and pulls away from the cemetery, feeling as though he’s leaving a little bit of his soul behind, left in the petals of the daisies and the dirt of her grave.

 

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	14. Chapter 14

The sidewalk is cold and rough and Gerard doesn’t like it, but yet, here he is, in the very early hours of the morning, doing his best to not hate Andy as much as he’d really like to right now.

Oli is leaning up against him, barely awake, muttering curses at Andy, who’s on the other side of Gerard. Vic is sitting next to Oli, occasionally smacking him in the leg and saying ‘shut the fuck up’.

“We are here because?” Oli whines, shifting more of his weight on to Gerard.

“Why don’t you guess?” Andy says.

“Because you hate us all,” Oli says.

“Try again, fucknut. Anybody else got an idea?” Andy says. He’s in the mindset Gerard sincerely doesn’t like, the one where he’s a fearless leader with an ice cold heart, his voice as emotionless as his expression. There is no way anyone could get him to be human right now. Not even Oli.

“This isn’t our territory,” Vic says, scrutinizing the side of the abandoned warehouse that is heavily graffiti’d in many colors, an entire rainbow with the addition of many colors that appear to be mixtures, colors that could only be created by combining paint can after paint can.

“Correct. This sidewalk we are sitting on happens to be the very literal line between what is our territory and what is not. Any other observations?” Andy further presses.

“There’s an excess of graffiti from different gangs. I don’t see more than one marking per gang,” Gerard says, his voice just about as quiet as the world around them.

“Excellent job. Anyone else?”

“Well, I do know one thing,” Vic says, after far too long.

“What would that be?” Andy says, his voice cold, nearly mocking.

“That graffiti freaks me the fuck out.”

“And why is that?”

 “About 95% of those markings are a whole new level violent. They are most definitely threats. Fucking _promises_ to hurt whoever this is directed at,” Vic says.

“Ding ding ding! We’ve got ourselves a winner! Good job Vic,” Andy says, feigning jubilance.

“These are indeed threats,” Andy continues. “Threats against us, our alliances, everything and everyone associated with us.”

Andy stands, pushing himself up from the cold cement and gesturing for the others to do the same.

“This is more or less an official warning. What this graffiti communicates is that if we don’t get ourselves off the headlines and if we don’t stop bringing all the attention to us, they’re going to do whatever they have to do to get rid  of us.”

“Why would they want us out of the spotlight?” Gerard asks.

“The more attention we get, the more powerful we are. We get more and more untouchable with every headline and arrest warrant, and they don’t want that. They don’t want us to have too much power. Thus, this lovely mess in front of us,” Andy says.

Vic shudders. “Let’s just get the fuck out of here before the sun is up and the targets on mine and Oli’s back are flashing fucking neon signs. Besides, we gotta fucking walk back.”

“He’s right,” Oli says.

“Well, get going then,” Andy says.

With that, Oli and Vic leave, silently, an invisible darkness weighing down the world around them.

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“Did you remember to grab the house key?” Vic asks as they approach Kellin’s house.

“Nope. We get to pick a lock,” Oli responds. Vic groans.

“Come the fuck on man! You forgot the fucking key?”

“Yup. I suggest picking the back door so we don’t get the cops called on us.”

“No shit,” Vic says as they walk around the back of Kellin’s house at godforsaken in the morning.

Oli hums cheerfully while he wiggles the bobby pin in the lock, leaning against the door until he hears the telltale ‘click’ that means the door is open.

“Sometimes I can’t fucking believe you,” Vic says as they walk into the house.

“You know what I can’t fucking believe?” Oli says.

“What?” Vic responds.

“That no one _fun_ is awake.”

And with that, Oli practically _sprints_ upstairs, gone before Vic’s brain can really register what he’s about to do, and when it dawns on him, he swears to himself and bolts after him, but it’s too late.

Oli has barreled through the door of the room where they were all sleeping, jumping on top of Kellin and Frank and yelling like a madman all the while.  

“GOOD FUCKIN’ MORNING!” Oli shouts at the top of his lungs, earning himself a rather vulgar response from Kellin.

“WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK?” Kellin screams, and Vic runs faster, losing his footing a little as he rounds a corner.

The sight once he gets inside the room is one to behold. Oli is standing on the bed, in between Kellin and Frank, with a maniac grin. Kellin is glowering at Oli, arms crossed, sitting up, awake, but Frank is still curled up on his side, probably conscious, but not giving Oli the satisfaction of getting him up, and this obviously bothers Oli.

“Frank,” he stage-whispers, jumping a little. “Wake up.”

Frank makes some sort of noise, but he makes no movement to sit up or open his eyes. Oli pouts and jumps a little again, hissing Frank’s name more insistently this time.

“Well screw this. If I have to be up, so do you,” Kellin says, standing up on the bed next to Oli, which earns him a smile.

“Don’t you fucking smile at me, I fucking hate you. But I hate suffering alone more,” Kellin spits at Oli, before nudging Frank’s back with his foot.

“Guys,” Vic whispers, opting to enter the room then. “Leave him alone. Let him sleep.”

“Fuck no. Frank, get up. Get up or I’ll cry,” Kellin says loudly, not quite shouting, but getting there, nudging Frank’s back again.

Once more, Frank only makes a noise in response, no real words coming from his mouth.

“I will _cry_ Iero. And light things on fire in my sorrow. Fucking get up.”

“My lighter is in the front left pocket of my pants. Have fun,” Frank mutters, and Kellin hops off the bed, kicking around the pile of shit on the floor a bit, searching for Frank’s pants.

“Where the fuck even are your pants?” he asks, picking up a pair of jeans and then tossing them across the room when he decides that those aren’t the pair that he’s looking for.

“I’m still wearing them,” Frank responds, flopping over to lay on his stomach and bury his face in the pillow.

“You slept with a lighter in your pocket?” Oli asks.

“Yup.”

“That’s kind of dangerous, don’t you think?”

“Nope. It’s more dangerous to even let _that thing_ know I have a lighter,” he says, flapping a hand in Kellin’s direction without even moving his face from the pillow.

“So I’m a thing now?”

“When _weren’t_ you a thing?” Vic says, and Kellin balls up a t-shirt and throws it in Vic’s face.

“If Andy didn’t scare me so much, I would shove you down the stairs,” Kellin says, crawling back up on the bed and tugging at Frank’s torso, trying to get him to roll over.

“Roll over dammit, I want your lighter.”

“You’re funny. No.”

“If you’d get up, I wouldn’t be sad, and then I wouldn’t have to light things on fire,” Kellin bargains.

“Fine. Fucking fine,” Frank relents, rolling over and sitting up.

“Good morning,” Vic says, and Frank glares at him.

“Shut the fuck up.”

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Three hours and roughly two and a half dozen pancakes later, Oli and Kellin have built a fort out of couch cushions and have reached a temporary truce so they can conspire against their captors (their ‘captors’ being Vic and Frank, who have denied the two an adventure in to the outside world).

The two have been sitting in their fort for quite a while, brainstorming various ways to escape. So far, they’ve ruled out more than half of their ideas, most of which involved lighting fire to something or someone.

Kellin is chewing on the end of his pencil, spacing out in an attempt to form ideas while Oli combs through their list and crosses out everything that involves grenades.

“What’ve we got left?” Kellin asks around the pencil in his mouth.

“One thing. Annoying them until they’re forced to take us outside.”

He takes the pencil out of his mouth and sighs.

“There’s no fire involved, but I guess it’ll work.”

At that, Oli grins. “Who ever said that annoying them couldn’t involve fire?”

Kellin rolls his eyes and leans forward, tapping an item on their list with this pencil.

“Number eight. Lighting fires until they release us.”

“Dammit.”

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Kellin is never going to admit it, but he’s found that Oli isn’t as annoying as Kellin first thought he was.

Both boys are crouched down low to the ground, peering around the corner of the kitchen, staring intensely at the back of Vic and Frank’s heads, loaded Nerf guns in both their hands, biding their time, waiting.

“When I count to three,” Oli whispers, “Jump up and just unload these motherfuckers in their general direction. As long as we hit them, we’re good.”

Kellin nods. “Got it.”

“Ready?” Oli asks.

“Yeah.”

“THREE!” Oli shouts, jumping out from behind the corner and hardly giving Kellin the proper amount of reaction time. Kellin stumbles to his feet, following Oli rather gracelessly, and Kellin starts shooting haphazardly at Vic and Frank.

“FUCKING – SHIT, KELLIN, STOP THAT, VIC CAN YOU GET THE – FUCK! OLI, GODDAMMIT!”

Oli simply cackles in response, and Kellin can’t resist laughing himself, especially when he hits Frank square in the forehead and Frank turns on him with his face contorted in such a ridiculous angry expression that Kellin just about completely loses it right then and there.

They run out of bullets quickly, however. It dawns on him that they didn’t plan _past_ assaulting Vic and Frank, and there’s a moment where nothing happens, but then Frank swears at Kellin and, in a sudden superhuman feat, picks Kellin up and slings him over his shoulder, walking in to the living room and throwing Kellin over the back of the couch, still swearing.

“What the _literal fuck_ was that, Sykes?” Vic demands, throwing a foam dart back at Oli, who is kneeling on the kitchen floor, picking up the stray bullets.

“GIVE ME LIBERTY OR GIVE ME DEATH!” Kellin shouts, and Frank gives him the best nonverbal ‘what drugs did you take’ look that he has.

“In all the time that I’ve known you, you’ve never once paid attention in history class. How do you even kind of know that?” Frank says.

“Sometimes I pay attention. Very rarely. That time Mr. Robinson got all excited and ranty about Patrick Henry was one of them,” Kellin explains.

“I’m going to pretend that that makes sense. Oli, what about you? What’s your side to the story?”

Oli shrugs. “He’s pretty much got it.”

“Well what does that _mean_? What does Kellin quoting dead white men have to do with trying to kill Frank and I with Nerf darts?” Vic inquires, gesturing wildly with his hands, his frustration getting the best of him and as well as the best of his motor skills.

“It means that you either liberate us, or we kill you,” Kellin says.

“I don’t think that’s what Patrick Henry meant,” Frank says kind of quietly, shaking his head.

“It is now,” Kellin retorts.

“What does liberating you entail?” Vic says slowly.

“Letting us the fuck outside,” Oli says.

Vic sighs heavily. He leans against the counter and silence weighs heavy in the room while Vic very nearly visibly gauges the consequences and potential outcomes of letting Oli and Kellin outside.

He exhales again and tilts his head up towards the ceiling.

“Okay. Fine. We can go to a park or something,” Vic relents.

Kellin and Oli both cheer in excitement, while Frank just looks at Vic for a moment, drinking in his expression and the miniscule clues in his body language.

Vic is worried. Very worried, on the verge of panicking.

When Oli and Kellin run upstairs to grab whatever it is they decided that they positively _need_ to take with them to the park, Frank verbalizes his concerns.

“Are you going to be okay?” Frank asks, and Vic nods in response, kind of slowly, a little delayed, but it’s an answer, and it’s better than nothing.

“You sure?” he says, just wanting to be as positive as he can that Vic will be alright.

“Yeah. I... Yeah. I’m just a little worried, you know? Like, what if someone recognizes us? What if someone notices who we are and calls the police? We’re already risking it as we are, we’re breaking Andy’s rules, and I mean, Oli was going to do that anyway, but this is all of us. In public. For an extended period of time.”

“We’ll be fine, I’m positive. And even if the police do get called, you guys run from them all the time. Kellin and I can keep up just fine. We’ll be fine, Vic.”

Vic smiles, small, scared. “Yeah. Okay. You’re right. We’ll be fine.”

Kellin and Oli come running back downstairs then, muttering uncharacteristically hushed, and Frank can practically see the tension that hadn’t completely melted away from Vic’s shoulders return in a rush.

“Hey,” Kellin says, his voice startlingly gentle. “You guys ready to go?”

Frank and Vic exchange a quick look, and then Frank nods.

“Yes, we’re ready, now let’s get going before it gets too dark,” Frank says, and the group heads out the door and starts down the street.

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Oli and Kellin hadn’t meant to eavesdrop on Frank and Vic, but it happened, and frankly, they’re both equal amounts secretly happy that they’d heard how Vic was actually feeling.

 They knew that they were pushing it when they wanted to go outside. They were under strict instructions to keep their head down and keep themselves out of the public eye as much as possible, but the two couldn’t help that they felt trapped and that they needed to get outside and breathe new oxygen.

Now, looking back, there were many holes in their plan to be released: the first being what happens _after_ they attacked Frank and Vic, the second being the emotional stress caused by their need to go outside.  

“I’ve never seen him get worried like this,” Oli whispers to Kellin as they walk towards the park. “Vic is usually the one that’s all calm and collected. He just doesn’t let anyone know if he’s freaking out.”

Kellin flicks his gaze over to the back of Vic’s head.

"Can you tell if he's freaking out right now?" Kellin asks, and Oli squints his eyes like he's looking at the sun.

"I think that he's freaking out a little, but not as much as he could be. Frank calmed him down a lot, so he's not as... Panicky, or whatever. We might be in the clear, just don't do anything too stupid or extravagant and we'll probably get through tonight all in one piece," Oli says.

Kellin resigns himself to a small amount of guilt and challenges Oli to a rock kicking contest so he doesn't have to think so hard about making Vic panic like he did. He watches as the rock skitters across the sidewalk, the sound raw and harrowing in his ears, and he doesn’t completely understand why the sound is echoing in his head like it is.

Maybe his brain just needed to fill the pounding silence.

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All traces of guilt are forgotten once Frank breaks the lock around the rusted chain-link fence and Kellin sets his sights on the imminently dangerous jungle gym, punching Oli in the arm and yelling “race you!”, sprinting towards the waiting death trap faster than he’s probably ever ran in his life.

 He’s surprised that the bars don’t give out beneath his feet when he starts to climb the structure, but the lack of safety doesn’t spurn him. Kellin keeps climbing, and he hears OIi’s rushed footsteps and maniac screaming approaching him a significant amount of time before Oli himself joins Kellin on the jungle gym.

“Not fucking fair,” Oli pants, getting a foothold on one of the progressively disintegrating rusted bars and hoisting himself up to where Kellin has perched himself at the very top of the jungle gym, sitting down next to Kellin on one of the less dangerous looking bars.

“Totally fucking fair,” Kellin says, stomping hard on a bar below them, doing his best to actually break the precarious structure, but it hasn’t been relenting.

“Wanna see something cool?” Oli offers, stomping his foot on the bar next to the one Kellin has been stomping.

Kellin looks up at him cautiously. “I feel like the answer should be no, but I’m going to say yes.”

Oli grins. “Glad you’ve got sense enough to agree, because I would’ve done it anyway.”

He climbs off of the jungle gym and gestures for Kellin to do the same. Once the two are both on the ground, Oli ducks underneath the jungle gym and grabs two of the rusted bars above his head like he’s going to do a pull up, then he jumps and wraps his legs around a pair of bars next to the ones his hands had been on a few moments before.

The result is Oli hanging upside down like a bat, and Kellin is, admittedly, unimpressed.

That is, until Oli drops his hands lower to one of the bars that they’d used to climb up the jungle gym and arches his spine to accommodate the stretch, and Kellin is left wondering how the fuck someone learns that they can do that.

“Oliver! Fucking stop that before you break your spine!” Vic shouts, and Oli frees one of his hands to flip Vic off.

“You ruin all of my fun!” he shouts in response, but he relents, and undoes himself slowly as to not break himself or the structure and crawls out from beneath the jungle gym.

“C’mon,” Oli says, “Let’s go have fun on the swingset,”

Kellin smirks. “Bet I can jump further than you.”

“Hell fucking no. You’re on.”

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Frank and Vic are sitting on one of the mossy, long since abandoned park benches, watching Kellin and Oli launch themselves off of the swings, shouting about how the other had cheated by either levitating, flying, or some kind of ethereal force that neither of the boys had bothered enough to peg. Vic’s phone starts buzzing furiously, and the look on his face when he sees who’s calling is an odd mixture of puzzlement and dry, untainted fear.

“It’s Andy,” he mutters.

“Well then answer it!” Frank says, hoping to kick Vic’s brain in to starting.

He answers the phone, and then puts it on speaker so Frank can hear it too.

“Hey,” Vic says, and the voice on the other end of the line sounds distressed and haggard.

“Are you guys at home?” Andy asks, and at this moment, Oli chose to scream very loudly about how Kellin was part bird and he should just fucking admit it already.

“No. Oh, and you’re on speaker phone.”

“Get home right the fuck now before I track your fucking call and come find you and shoot you all myself. And I mean right the fuck now. Like, you should be heading to your house _as we finish this call_ ,” Andy spits.

“Okay, okay, Jesus Christ. We’re going. Frank, get Oli and Kellin? They’ll probably listen to you better than me,” Vic says as he stands and begins to leave the park, his friends close behind.

“What’s going on, Andy?” Vic asks, concern bubbling in his throat.

“I’m meeting you at Kellin’s house.”

The dial tone buzzes in his ears and Vic just about throws up then and there.

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True to his word, Andy is already there when the group returns home.

“What’s happening?” Oli asks, voice borderline monotone and terrifyingly serious.

Andy doesn’t speak, instead, he turns on the television to the local news channel.

“The gas station that was held up and robbed just three weeks ago has burned to the ground under mysterious circumstances. There is currently no evidence that the two crimes were committed by the same people, or that the crimes are connected in any way. The county sheriff is offering tips on how to protect your business from vandiliza-”

The blonde woman on the screen is cut short as Andy turns the TV back off. He turns to the group with a blank expression without having said a word since Vic got home.

“Does anyone know what this means?” he asks, his voice cold, like ice.

His question is met with silence.

“It means that there’s another gang out there that wants to hurt us. That was a warning. That was a _final_ warning. And I have a feeling that they’re going to take us just breathing as an offense and do something against us no matter what we say or do. Our days are numbered now, because no one fucking knows who or what or when anything is going to happen.”

Once again, his statement is met with silence.

“Right. That’s it. See you,” Andy says, voice still colder than the arctic wind.

He turns and leaves in one breath, leaving the four boys he’d left behind stunned with seeds of fear growing deep in their stomachs.

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	15. Chapter 15

That night, Kellin doesn’t sleep. His thoughts are overrun with images of the people in the room with him getting shot, gruesome, bloody images plaguing his mind. Kellin feels like the longer he keeps his eyes closed, the more likely it is that when he opens them, the things his mind has been producing will be right in front of him (bodies lying in pools of blood on asphalt, chests riddled with gaping bullet holes, blank, unseeing eyes, infinite amounts of words left unsaid).

He silently resigns himself to a night which will no doubt be long and quietly climbs out of the bed, doing his best not to disturb Frank (who’s in a sleep so deep he doesn’t so much as stir as Kellin gets out of bed) as he does so. Subconsciously holding his breath, he tiptoes across the room and to his door, which he opens as silently as humanly possible, and makes his way downstairs.  

As he enters the kitchen, the little green numbers on the oven glare at him, declaring that it is three in the fucking morning, and he can practically _feel_ them judging the fuck out of him.

Running a hand through his already messy hair, he clicks on the little light above the oven and gives his eyes a moment to adjust to the borderline nonexistent amount of light, and looks out the small kitchen window, which faces the backyard.

The small sliver of the moon that hangs in the sky doesn’t fail to drench the area in the kind of white-silver that only belongs to moonlight, causing the leaves on the trees to cast peculiar shadows with an inconsistent depth, and a tiny thought at the back of his mind supplies the phrase ‘leaf monsters’.

He shakes his head. It’s three in the fucking morning, the oven is alive and possesses the capability to judge him, leaf monsters are a thing, and if he felt like he could sleep, it hits him then that he really fucking needs to.

Kellin begins opening cabinets and looking for the tea he knows they have, thinking that maybe a warm drink and something to eat will help cure a little bit of his instability.

After a solid three minutes of searching, he arises victorious with some peach tea and these weird breakfast bar things that his mother bought a thousand years ago, but they haven’t expired yet, so Kellin can’t think of any reason why he _shouldn’t_ eat them. And he doesn’t think that tea ever expires, and if it does, he doesn’t care enough.

He’s leaning against the counter, eating one of the breakfast bars, a cup of water heating up in the microwave, when he hears someone come downstairs. The only light in the room is the muted one coming from the oven, so when they enter the kitchen, he’s two types of surprised.

“You alright? Oli asks, the odd gold glow of the room giving his face a new sort of depth, one that isn’t there in the daylight. There’s more emotion on his face, his eyes holding more concern than Kellin thinks he’s ever seen Oli possess. Creases from the pillowcase are all across his right cheek, and his eyes seem blurred, the sleep not having left them completely yet.

“I think so. Just couldn’t sleep,” he responds after a moment. “Why are you up?”

Oli shrugs. “Woke up for a moment, noticed you weren’t in the room, got up to make sure you were okay. And also to piss, but that was a secondary on my list of things to do. Even though I did it first. Whatever.”

Kellin furrows his brow. “You noticed I was gone? I’m impressed you even noticed I was in the room in the first place.”

“Well it’s sort of a reflex to count how many people are in the room, but yeah. I noticed you were in the room, and I noticed that you were gone,” he says casually, like they hadn’t been at each other’s throats since they met.

Maybe it’s sleep deprivation, or maybe it’s something else altogether, but any kind of disdain Kellin may have previously held for Oli completely dissipates in that moment.

There one second, and then gone the next.

The microwave beeps, putting the spell that seems to have fallen over them on temporary hold. It’s the kind of spell that can only fall over people in the earliest hours of the morning, the kind that makes you admit things, talk about things, that you certainly wouldn’t talk about in the daylight.  

Kellin pulls the hot water from the microwave carefully, doing his best to make sure that the steaming liquid doesn’t spill over the side of the cup and burn is hands. He sets it on the counter and drops the teabag in the water quickly, turning away for a moment to let it soak and also to find a packet of Splenda.

“Want any?” he asks as he rifles through a container of little packets, but Oli shakes his head.

“You Americans make your tea all wrong. In the microwave? What the fuck is that shit? You’re drinking a cup of lies, Quinn.”

Kellin rips open the packet of Splenda that he managed to find and pours it into the cup, dunking the teabag a couple more times, and then braving the temperature of the water to squeeze the last few droplets out of the bag, throwing it away underneath the sink.

Despite knowing that he’ll burn the fuck out of his mouth, he takes a huge gulp of tea. “Lies or not, this is pretty good.”

Oli laughs, albeit quietly, but the sound reverberates in the room, leaving echoes of his laugh ringing pleasantly in Kellin’s ears, Kellin himself smiling.

And, as the spell of three in the morning dictates, Kellin suddenly finds himself compelled to ask a question that he wouldn’t even consider asking at any other time of day.

“You’re not who you pretend to be, are you?” he asks, and confusion flickers across Oli’s face.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not as....” Kellin gestures uselessly with his hand, words failing him for a moment, “Childlike as you act, are you?” he clarifies.

Oli nods. “I’m not. I just act like I am so that people’ll get off my back about responsibilities and shit, or expect less of me, or whatever. But you know how that feels, don’t you?” he says, looking Kellin in the eye.

“Yup,” Kellin replies, not breaking the eye contact. “Know it about as well as I know the back of my hand.”

Oli’s about to respond, his mouth open, but there’s a click of a key in the door, and the unmistakable sound of aforementioned door opening following it, that forces the pair into silence.

On instinct, Oli tenses and moves to find a weapon, but Kellin puts his hand on his elbow.

“It’s fine. I promise.”

Oli shoots him a disbelieving look, but some of the tension that had previously held his body rigid seeps from his shoulders and he relaxes just in the slightest.

They stand silent as they watch the lights in the living room come on, and the two can hear the person that entered sigh heavily and set something down by the couch, and then sit down.

“Hi mom!” Kellin calls.

“Kellin? What’re you doing awake at this hour?” his mother responds, getting up from the couch and coming into the kitchen.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he replies, setting his drink down and allowing his mother to hug him.

She purses her lips and then pats his shoulder. “Well at least you’ve got your friend for company. What’s your name again sweetheart?”

“Oli, ma’am,” Oli says, and she nods.

“Right, right. I remember that. I assume Frank and the other boy are upstairs?”

“Yeah, Frank and Vic are asleep,” Kellin says. “Is Frank’s dad ever coming home?” he asks out of nowhere, figuring that now is just as good of a time as any to ask.

His mother heaves a sigh and runs her hands down her face. “I uh... Don’t know. We haven’t really been communicating lately, but we’re trying to make it work. I think.”

She sighs again, and then waves her hand in the air dismissively. “It’s not important right now. I need you and Frank to go return bottles sometime soon please, we could use the extra money.”

Kellin raises an eyebrow. “You’re prepared to force your child and not-quite-stepson to throw cans into a machine for two hours to receive thirty bucks for five hundred cans?”

“Yes, Kellin, please just do what I ask.”

“Yeah Kellin, do what she asks,” Oli says, earning an approving smile from Kellin’s mother.

“See, Oli has the right idea. Now, return the bottles please, it’s not asking for much. I need to sleep, because right now I’m dead on my feet, one of the new employees screwed up while we were closing at it took forever to resolve. Night sweetheart, goodnight Oli,” his mother says, waving a hand at the pair and leaving the two to the seclusion of the kitchen.

“Goodnight,” the two call after her. Kellin waits until he hears his mother get all the way upstairs and the door to her bedroom close to start speaking again.

“You should probably sleep too,” Kellin says. Oli shakes his head no.

“I don’t feel like I should leave you alone right now,” he says quietly.

“Why? I don’t need a babysitter, Sykes, I’m not twelve and prone to drawing dicks on every available surface. I only draw dicks on the inside of bathroom stalls. Maturity,” he responds definitively.

“You could draw the most detailed dick in the universe on the side of the house for the whole world to see, for all I care. Actually, I’d probably help you color it. But that’s not the point, I know that when I don’t sleep, I get kinda... Fucked up. I want to do things that I really, really shouldn’t, and I don’t want you to be alone to deal with that shit.”

Kellin shifts his weight back and forth between his feet. It is true that Kellin does experience those kind of things as a side effect of sleep depravity, but he can handle them on his own.

“I’ll be okay, I promise. No dick drawing, no stupid actions, no nothing but watching every episode of Powerpuff Girls available on Netflix,” he says.

“Yeah, no. I’m not gonna leave you alone. I’ll wake Vic up, he’ll keep an eye on you,” Oli replies.

“No, don’t do that,” Kellin protests. “He needs to sleep. Don’t wake him up for babysitting me.”

“You kidding me?” Oli laughs. “He gets up in the middle of the night to deal with Mike’s unstable self all the time. He’ll be fine, nothing he isn’t used to,” he assures.

“Okay,” Kellin agrees, albeit reluctantly and quietly.

“Alright, I’ll be back in a moment. You just sit yourself down on the couch and watch whatever in the meantime, kay?”

Kellin nods, not really capable of saying anything. He feels pretty shitty about making people lose sleep just to make sure he’s okay. It’s ridiculous and unnecessary and it hits him then that _this is exactly what Oli was talking about_.

He nestles himself into the corner of the couch, setting his drink (which has cooled down by a significant amount at this point) on the coffee table and turns on the television. Kellin hadn’t been kidding when he said he was going to watch every available Powerpuff Girls episode, so he finds the first one and hits play, preparing to lose himself in the bright colors and cheerful voices.

Upstairs, Oli has nudged Vic awake and whispered a summarized version of the situation to him, including Kellin’s hesitancy about having Vic lose sleep over keeping him company (and how he’s going to have to watch the Powerpuff Girls).

“Didn’t you tell him that it’s not a problem?” Vic whispers.

“I did, but he didn’t really believe me. He still feels bad,” Oli replies.

Vic frowns. “That’s stupid.”

“You tell him that,” Oli says, burrowing himself under his blanket pile, which is weighing down his half of the air mattress.

“I’m fucking gonna,” Vic whispers, standing up and making his way to the upstairs bathroom.

The light blinds him temporarily, causing him to hold onto the doorframe for momentary stability. He can faintly hear Blossom’s voice reaching him from downstairs, but he drowns it out with the faucet when he rubs cold water on his face, doing his best to look more awake than he actually is, knowing that it’d cause Kellin to feel more distressed than he already does to see Vic looking haggard and exhausted.

He pauses at the top of the staircase, sort of staring into oblivion. It’s not much of a secret (well, it wouldn’t be if anyone asked him about it) that he has a small crush on Kellin, and he’s not sure what the mixture of liking someone and lack of sleep will do to him, or his actions.

Ultimately, the conclusion he comes to is ‘no sex’ and he finishes his walk down the staircase.

“Good morning,” Vic says cheerfully, far more cheerful than he feels.

“Morning,” Kellin replies. “Sorry to make you get up.”

“It’s fine. There was no way I was gonna turn down watching the Powerpuff Girls at three in the morning, anyway.”

Kellin laughs. “If it was any other show, would you have said no?” he asks.

Vic looks at him incredulously.  “Uh, yes? Powepuff Girls or die.”

“But what if I wanted to watch Adventure Time or something?”

“Then we’d have a problem. I’d have to hold you hostage and make you watch Powerpuff Girls, because I’m not watching anything else,” he says definitively, crossing his arms.

“What happens when we run out of episodes?” Kellin presses.

“We rewatch every episode, now shut up, I’m trying to pay attention.”

“But what if I don’t want to shut up?”

“ _Jesus Christ_ , you ask more questions than a two year old on speed!” Vic says, and Kellin almost falls over laughing.

“Don’t two year olds on speed ask way more questions though?” Kellin says, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. Vic can tell that from this point onward he’s going to do his best to phrase everything that comes out of his mouth as a question.

“Silence. No more speaking.”

“Why can’t I talk? You’re not the boss of me!”

“I’ll fucking _make myself the boss of you if you don’t shut up_ ,” Vic says through gritted teeth, in a completely joking frustrated tone.

“Well then you better do that, because from now on I don’t know the definition of silence,” Kellin declares, giving Vic a handful of seconds to figure out what he’s going to do before Kellin starts being obnoxiously noisy, like singing as if it’s karaoke night and he’s drunk, or reading the dictionary and an unnecessarily loud volume, or something else that involves an incessant amount of noise.

The decision Vic makes is split-second with the repercussions not thought out in the slightest; he launches himself to Kellin’s end of the couch and manages to pin Kellin’s wrists in one hand without getting punched in the face or getting kicked (too hard) in the ribs.

He places his entire hand over Kellin’s face. “I am the boss,” he says. Kellin retaliates by licking his palm.

“You are not,” he says in response. Vic jabs Kellin’s cheek with his free hand.

“I am too.”

Kellin wriggles beneath Vic, either trying to turn him on or relieve some of the tension in his shoulders, or maybe both.

“My arms are hurting,” Kellin says.

“If I let you go, will you shut up?” Vic proposes.  

Kellin wriggles again. “Maybe.”

“What the hell does that mean?” he asks. 

“Well, let me go, and we’ll find out.”

Slowly, very slowly, Vic relaxes his grip on Kellin’s wrists and lets him go and moves to sit up. Kellin, however, seems to have other plans. He throws his arms around Vic’s shoulders and hooks his lower leg around the back of Vic’s left knee, effectively keeping him in place, Vic’s hands having found nowhere else to fall but Kellin’s hips, and their faces are now very, very close together.

“Hi,” Kellin whispers, his voice soft and light.

“Hey there,” he whispers back, subconsciously rubbing circles against Kellin’s hipbones.

His gaze is locked on Kellin’s face, tracing the lines of his jawline, marveling at the delicate shadows his eyelashes cast against the tops of his cheekbones, finding himself hypnotized by those unfairly pretty eyes. The color of Kellin’s lips is distorted from the constantly changing glow of the TV – one moment they look red, and the next a peculiar purple color when the color on the screen changes from pink to a sky-like blue. Overall, he’s enthralled, completely submerged in some kind of impure combination of lust and astonishment.

“Can I – can I kiss you?” Vic asks, his heartrate picking up slightly. He can feel Kellin’s breath seize in his chest, they’re pressed together so close.

He nods eagerly, and his breath returns, although it’s at a rapid and what would otherwise be a concerning pace, if the situation were different.

Vic leans in, gradually and cautiously, moving his hand from Kellin’s hip to curl around his jaw, his thumb rubbing his cheekbone affectionately, and he finds himself hypnotized by his eyes again, those wide eyes that are the color of gemstones, the kind that people would pay hundreds for.

“Well?” Kellin asks breathlessly, “What’re you waiting for? Kiss me already.”

Vic pauses, and feigns consideration. “I might wait for the zombie apocalypse. Or an alien invasion. Or the inevitable robot takeover. Or-”

“Oh my god,” Kellin interrupts, rolling his eyes and smiling warmly. “Just kiss me, you nerd.”

And Vic can’t really say no to that. 

The first press of their lips together is soft and gentle, the smiles still on their faces. The feel of Kellin’s lips against his sends this weightless bursting feeling throughout his chest, and he starts to feel lightheaded and his heart begins to beat quicker. The kiss is wonderful and sweet, full of compassion and affection. Everything that a first kiss should be.

Vic pulls away for just a second, studying Kellin’s face again. His eyes are closed and his lips are just slightly parted, his fingertips curling and uncurling gradually against Vic’s shoulder.

He leans in and kisses Kellin again, a little rougher than their first kiss had been, sliding his tongue into the other boy’s mouth and nipping at Kellin’s bottom lip playfully. Kellin curls his hand tight against Vic’s shoulder, bunching up his shirt in his palm, his other hand gripping his bicep, and he bites back, until they’re not so much as kissing as they are having a biting contest.

“I just thought of something,” Kellin says, pulling away from Vic just long enough to speak.

“What?” he replies.

“Your tongue is in my mouth and a show for five year olds is on the TV.”

“And your point is?” Vic replies.

“We’re probably ruining the innocence of our childhoods, because I don’t know about you, but I won’t be able to watch the Powerpuff Girls without thinking about kissing you from here on out.”

“A small sacrifice,” Vic says, leaning back in and resuming their biting-contest-with-a-side-of-making-out.

They continue to kiss and bite for what felt like hours (but was probably somewhere close to a minute, if even that), until Kellin pulls away, again. Vic whines and follows his lips, and Kellin kisses him one more time before pulling away just far enough to speak.

“My mouth hurts,” Kellin murmurs almost incoherently against Vic’s lips.

“What do you want _me_ to do about it?” Vic mutters back, pulling away from Kellin so that they can look at each other. 

“Kiss it better?” he asks, eyes wide and imploring.

“You’re ridiculous,” Vic says, but complies anyway, leaning down and giving Kellin’s slightly bloodied and swollen lips a gentle kiss.

“Better now?” he asks sarcastically.

“No.”

“Well what _else_ do you want?” Vic asks, slightly irritated.

“More kisses. And cuddles. Then, and only then, will it be better,” he declares.

Vic rolls his eyes. “Sit up, then, because cuddles are not going to work in this position.”

“I think they will,” Kellin says, readjusting his hold on Vic’s shoulders, pressing their torsos and hips together more intensely than they had previously been.

“No they won’t. You just proved my point,” Vic replies, fighting free from Kellin’s vice grip and pulling him to his knees.

“Alright, so how are we gonna do this? I also require a blanket to be involved,” Kellin says. Vic grabs a blanket from his end of the couch and hands it to Kellin.

“Turn yourself into a blanket burrito,” he says. Kellin happily complies, burrowing into the blanket and pulling it tight around his shoulders. Vic then leans back, laying on his side.

“Okay, c’mere,” he says.

Kellin pouts. “Why do you get to be the big spoon? I’m taller,” he protests.

“I’m the boss, remember? Do what I say.”

He pretends to pout, and then gladly takes up his designated position of little spoon. Vic curls himself around Kellin, resting his chin on top of his head and wrapping his arms around Kellin’s waist, and Kellin grabs Vic’s hand and holds it there.

Vic tries to think of all the other times in his life that he was this content, this happy, and he honestly can’t think of one moment that rivals this one. This is a moment that he wants to live in forever; there’s a very cute, very sweet boy that he likes a lot cuddled up against him, holding his hand and playing idly with his fingers, his lips swollen from kissing aforementioned boy.

He can feel Kellin’s breathing measuring out, his grip on Vic’s hand relaxing progressively. He glances at the clock on the DVD player (hoping that it’s right) and sees that it’s just past five in the morning, a greyish light barely beginning to illuminate the world around them.

Vic holds Kellin’s waist a little tighter and Kellin stirs in the slightest, pressing himself closer to Vic, stopping only when every square inch of their bodies that could possibly be pressed together is, his grasp on Vic’s hand flexing before he finally falls still, drifting off to sleep.

Nothing, Vic concludes, could possibly be better than this.

//////////////////////////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

Oli wakes with the sun – in other words, at five in the fucking morning. That makes sense, though, once he wakes up, even if it’s at three in the morning, sleep seems to be impossible, and he’s honestly pretty impressed that he managed to fall back asleep at all.

For a while he just lays there, eyes open and staring blankly at the ceiling, letting his thoughts run rampant through his mind, and thus resulting in a kind of paranoia that he’s all too familiar with. He starts mentally listing all the weak spots in the house – the windows are unlocked, the locks on the doors are too easy to pick, and he’s not armed. His hand twitches and he wishes for the comforting weight of a gun resting in his palm, but he doesn’t have that. Fuck, he doesn’t even have a knife.

Sitting up and pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes, Oli takes his hands away and shakes his head like doing so might rid him of those thoughts, but it doesn’t work. He sits with his hands against his eyes for a few more minutes before summoning the strength to stand and stumbling not all that unlike a newborn deer into the grey daylight.

He remembers that Kellin and Vic are still downstairs, so he does his best to quiet his footsteps and turns into the living room.

The TV is still on, so he peeks around the couch and sees that Vic is awake, and that Kellin is asleep. Vic mouths a “hi” and presses a finger to his lips. Oli nods and sits himself in one of the armchairs by the couch and turns his attention to the screen – which is playing, of course, an episode of the Powerpuff Girls.

“Still watching this?” Oli whispers.

“Not out of episodes yet,” Vic replies, equally quiet.

“And what happens when you finish them all?”

“The world ends and we all die,” Vic says.

“That’s a bit overdramatic,” Oli says, and Vic flips him off.

“I haven’t really slept, okay. I’m not responsible for anything that I say or do past sunrise.”

Oli shrugs. “Fair enough.”

“Why’re you up?” Vic whispers.

“Just woke up, couldn’t fall back asleep.”

“Fair enough.”

Kellin stirs, and they still, until Kellin says in a very groggy, very clogged voice, “I hope you both die in the most gruesome manner possible.”

Vic laughs. “No you don’t.”

“Yes I fucking _do_. Sykes, smack him with something for me,” Kellin says.

“You got it,” Oli replies, grabbing a pillow and smacking Vic with it as hard as he can.

“That was mean,” Vic says, pretending to pout.

“Suck it up your highness,” Kellin mumbles, sitting up and removing himself from Vic’s hold in the process.

“Morning sunshine,” Oli says cheerfully, and Kellin does his best to try and kill Oli with his eyes.

“This isn’t morning. It’s hell. I am in hell, specifically the kind of hell where jackasses don’t let you sleep.”

“It’s reassuring to know that you’re this dramatic all the time,” Vic muses, earning himself one of Kellin’s I-fucking-hate-you-please-go-die-in-a-hole glares, but Vic makes a face at him and Kellin breaks his façade to smile.

They surrender themselves to a morning of hushed, lighthearted quarrelling and Powerpuff Girls episodes, because despite Kellin being awake now and not needing the supervision, leaving no other reason for them to still watch this show, Vic refuses to turn it off, or at least pick some other show.

Around seven, Oli starts whining about how he’s hungry, and a grumpy Kellin marches to the kitchen and flings one of the breakfast bars in his face, telling him to shut up at a loud enough volume that Frank yells ‘no, you’, followed by a prompt ‘it is too early, everyone be quiet,’ from Kellin’s mother.

That, of course, prompts the entire house (save for the television) into a very stern silence.

And although he’s been smiling, although he _feels_ like he’s happy, Kellin’s still scared.

There’s this impending sense of doom looming over them all and he doesn’t know what to do with himself, other than wait for whatever the feeling of disaster is caused by to happen and pretend that he knows how to handle it well.

He’ll have to test his acting skills sooner than he thinks.


	16. Chapter 16

Mike knows that his self-control sucks. He’s known that since beforehe started trying to get sober.

But the thing about sobriety is that it’s a very elusive state of being. No matter how much you want it, or how much you may _think_ you want to be sober, the substances that you’re trying to quit (as well as the way they’ve altered your brain chemistry) know otherwise.

And Mike has begun to figure that out. The hard way.

He doesn’t know what he was thinking telling Jaime that he’d come to this party. At the time, his reasoning had mostly been that he hadn’t seen anyone outside of school other than Mikey, Tony, and his brother for about three weeks, and he felt as though he could use a little bit of social interaction.

Somehow he’d managed to forget about the kind of people his social circle contains.

Literally the second he enters the house, he’s practically assaulted with the suffocating smell of weed and cheap alcohol, and as he walks farther into the house, he sees people doing motherfucking cocaine off of the counter in the bathroom, the door wide open for anyone and everyone to see.

The amount of time he has to process the scene in front of him is practically nonexistent, as Jaime comes up to him talking at a rampant pace about one thing or another (the music is so loud and Mike is so disoriented that he can’t really distinguish precisely what’s being said), cheerfully sugarcoating the events around them by jabbering about how happy he is to see Mike back and hanging out with all these people again, and how many of them, Jaime himself included, missed him.

Between the moment that Jaime started talking to him and now, Mike somehow has found himself in the bathroom, snorting lines of cocaine, taking hits of the joint that’s being passed around, and drinking whiskey straight from the bottle. Hours successfully slip by him unnoticed, mostly because he’s too high to give a fuck about what time of the night (or day) it is.

However, he starts to give a fuck when the phone in his pocket starts ringing.

He pulls it out and looks at the caller ID, and when he reads who’s calling, his heart plummets through the floor.

“You gonna answer that dude?” One of the guys in the bathroom asks, wiping his nose, a tiny smudge of blood dribbling out one of his nostrils.

Mike nods reluctantly and leaves the room, weaving his way through the swarm of intoxicated people to get to the back patio before he answers.

“Hello?”

“Mike? Where the fuck are you? I called Mikey, I called Vic, fuck, I even fucking called Pete and none of them have any clue where the hell you are,” Tony says, his voice somehow managing to be both terrified and angry all at once.

“I’m fine, Tony. I’m with some friends. Nothing – nothing you need to worry about.”

He can hear Tony’s raised eyebrow.

“What kind of friends?”

Mike shrugs. “Just friends. Some people I know.”

Tony pauses. “Just friends, huh? So if I were to show up wherever you are right now, I wouldn’t recognize anyone as one of my customers, and you’d be sober?”

“Yup.”

“Why don’t I believe that?”

“I don’t know,” Mike says spitefully, “Maybe because you don’t trust me!”

On the other end of the line, Tony scoffs. “I have every fucking right not to. Tell me where the fuck you are, I’m picking you up.”

Mike falters, but eventually relents and tells Tony where he is. He hears the sound of a car engine turning on, and Tony snaps out a quick, “I’m on my way, bye” before hanging up.

Against any and all forms of better judgement, Mike ducks back inside, does a few more lines, drinks a few more swigs, and finishes of one of the joints just as Jaime calls out for Mike, telling him that someone is here for him.

The look on Tony’s face isn’t one that Mike really wants to see again. It’s all anger, and it occurs to Mike that maybe waiting outside would have been better, because on the outside of the house you can’t see (or smell) all of the drug paraphernalia.

“C’mon. We’re going,” Tony spits, and Mike goes, apprehensively.

Inside the car (which must be Tony’s, or Tony’s mothers, because it’s not Andy’s truck), Tony doesn’t say a thing. The ride is silent, tension hanging heavily in the air, and Mike literally would rather that Tony screamed at him until he lost his voice than just drive silently, knuckles white against the steering wheel.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers weakly, the drugs in his system not anywhere near powerful enough to filter out the intense feeling of guilt that’s ravaging his body and mind.

“No you’re not. Shut the fuck up,” Tony says in an excessively disappointed tone.

“I am though,” Mike mutters.

“I told you to shut the fuck up. I don’t want to hear it,” Tony snaps, pulling into an unfamiliar driveway and stopping the car.

“Where are we?” Mike asks, looking around at his unfamiliar surroundings.

“My place. You’re staying with me tonight. I don’t want you around anyone else.”

Mike knows that he doesn’t have any say for or against these circumstances, so he silently follows Tony inside his house.

“Mom?” Tony calls out, dropping his car keys on the small stand beside the front door.

“Yeah?” comes the response.

“I’ve got a friend with me, is it cool if he stays over?”

There’s a pause, and then a barely audible sigh precedes the reply: “I suppose. But you both better be asleep by midnight,” she says.

“Thanks!” Tony calls, grabbing Mike’s arm suddenly and dragging him down the hall and towards what Mike assumes must be his bedroom (when Tony throws open the door with an unnecessary amount of force, his assumptions are confirmed).

The bedroom isn’t too terribly large, painted a robin’s egg blue that was obviously picked far earlier in Tony’s life. Near the baseboards the paint is beginning to chip, the sheetrock beneath leaving a dusty film of white where the paint had been and giving the beige carpet an odd, off-grey glaze.

However, Mike doesn’t have too much time to ponder the particulars of the aforementioned chipped paint, as Tony shoves him into the room roughly and closes the door in a chillingly calm manner.

“You’ve got two minutes to explain yourself. No more, no less. Starting now,” Tony says, voice cold and even.

“I went to a party, I got really fucking wasted. There’s nothing more to explain,” Mike says quietly.

Tony doesn’t respond, leaving an uncomfortable and looming silence hanging between them. He watches Tony shift his weight from foot to foot, eyes cast down to the floor, obviously trying to think of what to say next.

Instead of the anger that Tony had been expressing for the last forty-five minutes, the rage abruptly drops away and Tony’s response completely throws Mike off.

“Why? I mean, what was I doing wrong? It was going so well Mike, just... Why?”

And Mike doesn’t have an answer for that.

“I don’t know,” he shrugs.

“But you have to know _something_ , at least a little.”

“I’m just weak, I guess,” Mike says, voice flat.

“No, no,” Tony says, stepping forward and grabbing Mike by the shoulders. “No, none of that. You’re not weak. You’re pretty fucking strong, especially to have made it this far. It’s not easy to just quit, you know. It takes a lot of willpower and like, superhuman capabilities. You’re not weak.”

The combination of intoxicants in his system make everything around him have a strange haze, but it scatters just enough so he can see Tony’s face clearly. He sees the honesty, the caring, and something else, something buried deep behind the confusing mixture of emotions that seem to be flickering through Tony’s eyes all at once.

Tony sighs and looks at the alarm clock on the desk by the bed, seeing that it’s getting to closer to midnight. He knows that his mom will be in soon to make sure they’re asleep, so he decides it’d be best to try to go to bed now. They both need it, that’s for fucking sure.

“Listen, we should both probably sleep now. Do you want the bed or would you like me to go get a sleeping bag?” Tony says.

Mike looks at him, confused. “We can share, you know.”

“I don’t know,” Tony hesitates. “It’s not a very big bed.”

“Frank and Kellin share a twin every time they’re at Frank’s house. We can probably successfully share a full,” Mike remarks.

“Okay, fine. Fine. No homo.”

“Cut that the fuck out,” Mike mutters.

“What, would you prefer it to be full homo?” Tony says, smiling.

“Yes. Now be quiet, I’m tired,” Mike says, flopping onto Tony’s bed and just barely managing to pull the blankets over himself before he passes the fuck out.

Tony stops, trying to completely process what Mike has just said. Miniscule fractions of himself consider that maybe what he said wasn’t influenced by drugs, but the rest of himself knows that it has to be the drugs talking.

Shoving all considerations aside, Tony climbs into bed next to him and drifts off, listening intently to the even in and out of Mike’s breathing.

 //////////////////////////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

For the last couple days, Ashley has been Andy’s only truly consistent companion. With Oli gone, he’s pretty much completely alone. Gerard and Mikey’s mother had requested that the two “be at home more”, so to lower any sort of suspicions the brothers haven’t really left her sight save for school for the last week or so, leaving Andy to scramble for any kind of company he could find, resulting in Ashley and Andy sitting in the floor of Andy's room, drinking cheap-as-fuck beer that Vic had left behind a few weeks back. 

Ashley may not have been his first candidate in the friendship department, seeing as their friendship did form rather reluctantly, but he's come to find out that Ashley isn't really that bad of a person.

 The two find that they have more in common than was originally thought, discovering that they share a very similar taste in music, resulting in an hour long conversation about whichever one of the bands that Andy had a poster of haphazardly taped to his wall, leftover from his embarrassing days of being one of those obnoxiously pretentious fans that leapt at every opportunity to brag about how cool they were for listening to this band that was, in reality, more popular than perceived.

Hours drift by the pair unacknowledged, the topics changing rapidly and smoothly.

"So," Ashley says, setting his drink down beside him, "Fill me in on the rest of the guys. I mean, I haven't really had an opportunity to get to know them personally. So far it’s been 'strictly business', and I'd like to know a bit more about who I'm working with, you know?"

Andy nods. "I get that. What would you like to know?"

“How about relationships? Anybody got a lady friend?” Ashley asks, stretching out his legs and crossing them at the ankle.

“Well,” Andy says, “Not lady friends, that’s for sure. Vic has a kind of boyfriend, named Kellin, and I don’t know what the fuck is going on with Gerard, but he’s got a sort of boyfriend too, named Frank. Oli and Vic are staying with Frank and Kellin, who I think live together or something like that? I’m pretty sure that they’re stepbrothers, or close to it. They have basically no parental supervision.”

“Why haven’t I heard about them before?”

Andy shrugs. “I don’t know. Their relationships aren’t any of my business, honestly, and that’s Vic and Oli’s safehouse, I can’t afford to give away their location or who they’re with to people I don’t know all that well. No offense, or anything.”

“None taken,” Ashley says. “Does Tony know where they are?”

“I don’t think so,” Andy replies, shaking his head. “I don’t think he was there when we decided where they’d be staying.”

“Siblings?”

“Gee and Vic are the only two people that have siblings that I’m aware of, and I’m pretty sure you’ve met them both at least once. Probably one of the times that we had to make sure Pete didn’t try to call the cops on us or something.”

“Yeah, I think I’ve met them,” Ashley says, taking another swig from the lukewarm beer, “Are Vic and Gerard protective of their brothers?”

“Oh god yeah. Oh _fuck_ yeah. The reason we got in that fight that you ultimately heard about was because somebody beat up Gerard’s brother. They’re so protective I don’t think you could even prick one of them with a pin without their brother slitting your throat.”

“Jesus,” Ashley mutters.

“You’re telling me. Though it can be pretty useful sometimes, how protective they are. Gerard in particular doesn’t let anything happen to the people he cares about, and if something happened to Mikey, and probably Frank, too, I think he’d break. I think he’d just break,” Andy says.

“Fuck, that’s not good,” Ashley says.

“I know, but I don’t think that’s going to happen, and it’s more of a strength than a weakness. For now, at least.”

Ashley nods in agreement. “What’s Frank like?” he asks. “I honestly don’t know if I could picture Gerard dating somebody – he really seems like somebody who flies solo and likes it that way.”

“Kind of. Gerard likes company, but he doesn’t like vulnerability, even though his anxiety definitely makes him act more vulnerable than he’d like, and he sees company as vulnerability. As for Frank, I’ve only interacted with him once or twice. He and Kellin are really, really close, seeing as they’re together pretty much all the time, and the few times I’ve talked to him Frank’s seemed like a nice guy. Extremely calm, especially in comparison to Kellin, who’s... Fuck, I don’t even know how to describe it,” Andy says, gesturing with his bottle and then chugging the rest of his drink so it doesn’t slosh over when he gets extra expressive.

“Could you maybe _try_ to describe Kellin?” Ashley asks.

Andy snorts. “No. It’s impossible. Actually, I need to go talk to Oli, maybe you could come with and meet Kellin for yourself,” he says, pulling his phone out of his pocket and scrolling through his contacts.

“That’d be awesome,” Ashley says, smiling.

//////////////////////////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

“Hey, guys?” Oli calls out, receiving respective replies of “what” and “fuck off” from the other people in the house. He walks downstairs, wandering towards where he thinks the voices came from. “Andy and Ashley are gonna stop by in a little bit, that cool?”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Kellin yells out first, but Vic’s the one with the important (as well as reasonable) response.

“Ashley’s coming too?” he says, looking at Oli questioningly, putting down the spatula he was using to flip the pancakes that Kellin had oh-so-politely demanded.

“That’s what Andy said.”

“That doesn’t make much sense. I mean, Ashley hasn’t been working with us for very long, why would Andy just give up our location like that?” Vic says, furrowing his brow, not asking the question to anyone in particular, more or less just musing about their circumstances.

“Well, Andy did sound a little tipsy, but there are two possible answers,” Oli says. “The first and most probable being that Andy trusts him enough by now, the second being that Andy’s got a boner for him.”

“It’s probably the second one,” Kellin says, tone flat, putting more blueberries in his mouth that are supposed to be for the pancakes. Frank does everyone else in the room a favor and smacks him over the head as he walks by, heading towards the couch.

“Should we be extra cautious?” Vic says.

Oli shrugs. “Maybe. But they’re already on their way, and if I know Andy, and if he’s actually started to trust Ashley, then he’s already told him a lot.”

“I take it I’m not allowed to throw things at Ashley to assert dominance?” Kellin says through a mouthful of blueberries.

“ _No_ , you are not,” Vic says, putting the remaining pancakes on the plate with the other ones and turning off the griddle.

“You ruin all my fucking fun.”

“Cry about it.”

“I’m gonna,” Kellin says, stomping out of the kitchen, grabbing a pancake and taking the blueberries with him.

//////////////////////////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

Somehow, Andy, although slightly intoxicated, manages to drive to Kellin’s house without getting pulled over, wrecking the car, or getting lost.

If Oli wasn’t familiar with Andy’s levels of alcohol tolerance, he’d think that Andy had preformed some sort of miracle.

The two seem to have sobered up ever-so-slightly when they walk in the door, just enough so that Andy can make introductions and just enough so that Ashley can comprehend what’s being said.

“Vic told me I’m not allowed to throw things at you to assert dominance,” Kellin says. Ashley looks at Kellin like he’s a freak of nature.

“Uh... yeah, that wouldn’t be very nice,” he says.

“That’s not the point. The point is that I hit you in the face with a lamp and you don’t fuck with me,” Kellin says, very calmly.

“O....kay?” Ashley replies.

“Oli, can I talk to you for a minute?” Andy says.

“Yeah, sure. You kids have fun, and make sure you don’t let Kellin near objects that could potentially be thrown,” Oli says.

Andy and Oli round the corner and into the kitchen.

“What’s up?” Oli asks.

“Nothing, just wanted to talk to you. See how you’re doing and all that.”

“I’m fine. Well. Mostly fine. Living with Kellin is terrifying. But other than that, I’m perfectly alright. How are _you_?”

“Fine.”

Oli looks at him inquisitively. “That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

“...That all?”

“Yup.”

The look doesn’t leave Oli’s face as the two leave the kitchen and enter the living room. Something’s got to be up, but Oli can’t figure out what it is for the life of him.

The living room is eerily silent. Frank is sitting in one of the armchairs, knees to his chest, staring Ashley down, biting at his cuticles, while Kellin is sitting next to Vic and attempting what seems to be killing Ashley with his eyes.

“Kay, Ash, you ready to go?” Andy asks, and the look on Oli’s face intensifies.

“Sure,” Ashley says, standing up.

Everyone says their goodbyes, and the second the door closes, Frank speaks.

“I don’t like him.”

“Who?” Vic asks.

“Ashley. I don’t like him. Not in the slightest. Something about him seems... Off.” Frank says, speaking around the fingers in his mouth.

“I don’t like him either. I want to throw that lamp at his face,” Kellin says, uncharacteristically angry.

“I have no idea why you two are being so _hostile_ ,” Vic says. “There’s nothing wrong with Ashley, at least not to my knowledge. The dude seems to be perfectly normal, and perfectly fine. I may not trust him completely yet, but there doesn’t seem to be any reason that I shouldn’t trust him in the future.”

“I don’t know _why_ I don’t like him, Vic,” Frank says, “I just don’t. I just really fucking don’t.”

“Let’s just stop fighting for now, okay?” Oli says. “We can talk about this a little more once we all take a breather.”

The room mutters a reluctant agreement, but it’s an agreement. They all settle into the couch and allow themselves to become absorbed in shitty daytime television, just as a distraction.

Oli doesn’t want to admit it, but something’s up.

Something’s definitely up. 


	17. Chapter 17

Andy can’t help but be consumed by his thoughts as he and Ashley drive back to his house.

He’s not even sure why he drove all the way out here. This trip wouldn’t have ever happened if he was completely sober, he would’ve just settled for a phone call, but drinking always inhibits his usual rationality. He had to see Oli. The need to see his best friend, to hear his voice in real life, to just be assured that Oli was all in one piece was almost necessary.

There are odd feelings of attachment stirring in his chest and Andy has no idea what to do with himself.

 “Dude,” Ashley says, “you alright?”

“Mhm,” Andy says. “Just thinking.”

“Okay. Just checking, because your nose gets all scrunched up when you’re thinking, but it also gets scrunchy when you get a little upset.”

“You... you noticed that about me?” Andy says, a little astonished.

“Well, yeah. You’re quite the person, Andy. I’d have to be blind or ignorant to not notice those little things about you,” Ashley says very casually, like it’s something that everyone knows.

 Andy’s train of thought hits a metaphorical wall. It hadn’t ever really occurred to him that people took time out of their day to take notes on Andy’s personality. Usually they just shut the fuck up and listened to what he was saying, or sometimes words weren’t said at all and gunfire was exchanged instead.

He flexes his hands on the steering wheel.

Right then, he needs to be a little bit more drunk.

“I – uh – thank you,” he says, tripping over his words. This is new, and he has no fucking idea what he’s supposed to do or how he’s supposed to act.

“Of course,” Ashley says, smiling.

Andy is going to get so fucking drunk when he gets home. So fucking drunk.

//////////////////////////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

Frank’s had himself locked in the bathroom for at least twenty minutes, just staring at his phone, thumb hovering over Gerard’s contact, anxiously still chewing on his fingertips, which are starting to become a little raw and bloody, and rapidly bouncing his leg up and down.

Somebody taps on the bathroom door, snapping Frank from his odd, trance-like state.

“You okay Frankie?” Kellin asks softly through the door.

“Yeah,” Frank replies, short and quick.

“Can you open the door?”

He pauses, stopping all movement. Slowly, he gets up and unlocks the bathroom door, and Kellin walks in.

“You sure you’re okay?” Kellin asks again, as soon as he can actually see Frank’s face. Frank only nods in response, knowing that his head is too scattered to properly string coherent thoughts together and turn them into words.

“I know where mom hides the valium, if you’d like one,” Kellin says.

“No, I think I’ll be fine,” Frank says, mumbling around his sore fingers, and Kellin takes Frank’s hand out of his mouth.

“What can I do to help?” Kellin asks.

“I don’t know. Distract me or something,” he says.

“Well, mom did tell me that we have to go return cans soon. It’s sorta late in the day, so I don’t think many people will be there. Would that be an okay distraction?”

Frank thinks for a moment. Returning cans is a repetitive, doesn’t demand much physically, and Kellin would be with him to make sure he can’t do anything stupid to himself.

“Yeah. Yeah, let’s go return cans. Except, how are we going to get there?” Frank asks.

“I _do_ have a driver’s license, you know. And my mom has this crappy truck that’s sort of just sitting in the garage that we could use. If it’ll start.”

“Well,” Frank says, “Let’s go see if it starts.”

They go downstairs and Frank stands idly by while Kellin digs around in his mother’s bowl of loose change and keys for the pair he’s looking for, and after five solid minutes Kellin finds the keys and the two make their way to the garage.

To Frank’s surprise, there’s the truck that Frank somehow had never noticed. Kellin expertly navigates around the boxes and power tools sitting about, grabbing the bags of cans along the way, while Frank stumbles over things and stubs his toe on what he thinks was a chainsaw. It could have also been an air compressor, but Frank doesn’t really care. All he knows is that now his foot really fucking hurts.

“Hop in,” Kellin says, opening the driver’s side door so Frank can slide over to the passenger side (as the truck is jammed in close to the wall of the garage, probably too close to open the door of the truck successfully).

Kellin climbs in next to him and stares at the wheel of the truck.

“You better fucking start motherfucker,” he tells the car, before putting in the key and turning over the engine. He swears at the truck once, twice, and then the two cheer triumphantly when the engine comes to life.

Kellin doesn’t talk to him while they drive down the road, just letting the radio fill the silence, knowing that when Frank’s anxious like this, he finds it difficult to talk. And Kellin likes pleasant silences himself. He likes just sitting in silence with someone without it being awkward or uncomfortable, and sometimes he prefers that to a conversation.

The actual act of returning cans proves to be no easy feat. Well, physically it’s easy, but Frank won’t shut up about his hands being gross, and there’s this lady using the return next to them that keeps opening and closing her mouth in sync with the machine.

“I swear to god I can’t feel my hands through this layer of sticky and gross,” Frank mumbles, picking one more can out of the garbage bag and chucking it into the machine.

Kellin makes a noise in response, but he hardly takes notice of what Frank says, because he’s too busy chucking the same can into the machine over and over two hundred fucking times because the stupid fucking machine keeps spitting it back out and he is legitimately going to get a fucking baseball bat and –

“I can hear you getting pissed at that soda can,” Frank says calmly.

“I’m not pissed at the soda can,” Kellin says through gritted teeth.

“Yeah you are,” Frank says as he takes the can out of Kellin’s hand and sets it on the ground, “Destruction of someone else’s property is bad, Kellin.”

“Not in this case,” Kellin mutters, “Stupid fucking machine.”

“Well, luckily for you, this bag is the last one,” Frank says, dropping the final bag in front of them with a grating ‘clank’ sound.

“Thank god,” Kellin says at a normal volume, but he drops his tone (as well as his eyes) quickly.

The woman from earlier has left, and the can return area is like tunnel, so Kellin can see into the parking lot from where he stands. A dark colored SUV has parked just barely in his line of sight, and he can see the blurred outline of the person sitting in the driver’s seat and the person sitting in the passenger’s seat. After a moment, the driver’s side door opens and someone steps out, but doesn’t go into the store, or leave the parking lot at all. Instead they just lean against the car and stare in Kellin and Frank’s general direction, and maybe the two boys themselves, but Kellin can’t quite tell.

“Don’t raise your voice, don’t turn around, don’t do anything that could be interpreted as scared or fearful. Stay as calm as you can. There’s this guy in the parking lot standing next to his car and I think he’s watching us. Keep putting cans in the machine, Frank, we can’t draw their attention at all. They have to think that we don’t know that they’re watching,” Kellin mutters.

The color from Frank’s face has waned considerably, but he nods anyway and puts another can into the machine as Kellin had instructed.

“Should I call Gerard?” he says at a volume only loud enough for Kellin to hear.

“Actually, you probably should, and tell him to bring Oli, too.”

“I thought you hated Oli?”

“I do, but he can be intimidating as hell and that’s kind of important right now,” Kellin says.

Frank nods silently and grabs his phone and calls Gerard without a second thought, and Gerard, to put it extremely lightly, flips shit.

“ _What_? Fucking – there’s _what_?”

“A person in the parking lot watching Kellin and I, now could you just get Oli and come here? Because Kellin’s pretty sure this guy doesn’t have positive intentions,” Frank hisses into the phone.

“I’m going to fucking kill this son of a bitch, no one’s going to fucking hurt you, not while I’m around-” Gerard spits, and Frank hears a door slam and a car start.

“Gerard, please calm down, you’re going to cause a car crash,” Frank says with an edge of anxiety in his voice.

“I’m as calm as I’m going to get. I’ll see you in fifteen, be safe,” Gerard says, hanging up abruptly.

Frank listens to the dial tone for a couple moments before hanging up himself. “He’s on his way,” Frank mumbles.

Gerard pulls into the parking lot like a madman, tires squealing, drawing the kind of attention they certainly don’t need right now, and Kellin swears quietly under his breath. He doesn’t know whether or not Gerard’s actively trying to get them shot.

“Frankie,” Gerard says the second he sees Frank, grabbing him and hugging him close.

“Please don’t do that to me,” Kellin says, glaring at Oli.

“I wouldn’t touch you with a fucking ten foot pole, don’t worry about it,” Oli replies, nonchalantly pulling his gun out of his hoodie and checking the ammunition.

“Where is this fucker, I’ll blow his fucking brains out, I swear to god-” Gerard says, looking past Frank and into the parking lot, but Oli grabs his shoulder.

“Calm the hell down. We’re only here as security, if they try anything, you can go right on ahead, but until then, you need to fucking not get so worked up,” he says. Gerard clenches his jaw and pauses, shooting one last loathsome look to the parking lot before turning his back.

“You done?” he asks, gesturing to the empty garbage bag on the floor.

“Yeah. I’ll take the receipt in, Frank, you can go wait in the car,” Kellin says.

“Hang on a second,” Gerard says. “I think – and this is just so everyone is safe – That Frank should ride back with me, and you can ride back with Oli. Just so both of you are safe.”

Oli makes a face of complete disbelief. “You’re asking me to ride in a vehicle with _that_?”

“Hell no. Hell fucking no,” Kellin protests. “I’d rather chop my own arm off and eat it.”

“I know it’s not what either of you would like, but it lowers the chances of anyone getting hurt dramatically. It’s a safety precaution,” Gerard says, and Oli exhales heavily and rubs his face.

“Unfortunately, he’s right. Guess I’m fucking stuck with you,” he says.

“Fucking great. Well, let’s go get the money and get this the fuck over with,” Kellin says, absolutely exasperated.

“We’ll wait for you guys to get into your car before we leave, but we’ll be in our car,” Gerard says, grabbing Frank’s hand in what he probably thinks was an inconspicuous manner, but it’s really so painfully obvious that Kellin wants to retch then and there.

Oli accompanies him silently while Kellin collects the fifty two dollars he and Frank earned (over a span of what was close to two hours) and just as silently climbs into the truck alongside him. Gerard pulls out of the parking lot first and Kellin follows as closely as he can, a slight tremor in his hands.

“This shit’s got me high strung, fucking hell,” Kellin mutters. Oli shrugs next to him.

“That’ll happen when you’re not used to this kind of stuff,” he says matter-of-factly.

“Well....” Kellin says, allowing his words to trail off.

“Well?” Oli asks, surprised.

“Uh..... Before Frank’s dad and my mom got together, I was alone a lot. Like, a lot. And I would get really fucking bored. At the time, there was this kid lived next door to me, and he was mixed up in some _really_ bad shit. And everyone knew he was not the kind of kid that you wanted hanging around your children. But I was willing to do almost anything to be less alone and less bored. So I started running with him and his crew. We did some really stupid shit, one time we stole a car, another time we shoplifted something like $500 worth of shit from Wal-Mart, just stupid, petty things. I’ve been arrested like ten times,” Kellin says very calmly, “He moved away a while ago, went to live with his dad I think, and then we moved too, and I haven’t heard from or seen any one of those boys since.”

Oli is in some kind of awestruck state, words almost completely failing him.

“That..... That is not something I expected,” he says.

“Most people don’t, especially not with the way I present my personality. By the way, that jackass from the parking lot is tailing us,” Kellin says, and Oli immediately tenses and grabs his gun.

“You’re sure?”

Kellin nods. “Definitely. I memorized the license plate number. It’s them.”

“Fuck. _Fuck_. I’ll call Gerard, we’re going to split up, they can only follow one of us,” Oli says.

Frank is the one to answer, and Kellin knows that this is going to fuck him up, big time.

“Gerard, are you listening?” Oli asks.

“Yeah.”

“That son of a bitch from the parking lot is tailing us, and Kellin memorized the license plate number, there’s no way it’s not them,” Oli says, his voice slowly increasing into more of a shout than a normal vocalization. Kellin can hear Frank’s sharp intake of breath, and Gerard swears.

“I’ve got a plan,” Kellin interrupts. “Frank, you head to your house, Oli and I will bait them into some kind of chase and lose them, and we’ll meet you at yours as soon as we’re safe.”

“Works for me,” Frank says. “Be careful, you two.”

“We’ll do what we can,” Oli says, saying goodbye and hanging up.

“How confident do you feel in this plan?” Oli asks the second the phone call is over.

“Just confident enough. It’s full of holes, this truck is a pile of junk, and I’m out of practice, but I’m pretty sure we can pull it off.”

Oli looks at him and shakes his head. “Who the fuck are you and what have you done with the hyperactive bitchy little shit that we all assumed was Kellin?”

“I’m a fucking alien and I killed Kellin. Now,” he says, looking in the rearview mirror, “Would you do me a favor and shoot at that guy?”

“You want me to do _what_?”

“You heard me. Shoot at him. Just hit the windshield, or one of the side mirrors, or whatever, just enough to get their attention away from Frank and Gerard and onto us,” Kellin says.

He mutters something about Kellin being fucking crazy, but complies anyway, firing one shot and knocking out their passenger side mirror, and it works like a charm, the car speeding up and getting much closer to them.

In front of them, Gerard and Frank begin to turn onto the exit, and Kellin can almost _see_ the driver trying to decide who to follow.

“One more shot Oli, we’ve almost got them.”

 “You’re an idiot,” Oli says, but he does it anyway.

“Now all we have to do is lose them.”

“And how are we going to go about that?” Oli asks sarcastically.

“Like so,” Kellin says, easing his foot forward on the gas pedal, slowly gaining speed and weaving his way through traffic like it’s no problem at all.

The car behind them does what it can to follow them, doing pretty well for the most part, but occasionally falling behind them by one or two cars. It always catches up though, making Oli’s heart beat harder in his chest.

“Should I shoot at them again?” he asks.

“No. I’ve got this,” Kellin assures. “Think I can run this red light without getting pulled over?”

Oli drops his head on the dashboard. “I’m actually going to die.”

“Nah,” Kellin replies, letting go of the steering wheel with one hand to pat Oli’s shoulder, even though they’re cruising at a speed of eighty-some-odd miles an hour.

By some sort of miracle, they manage to run the light without crashing and getting pulled over. From there, Kellin turns recklessly through the streets every time the other vehicle shows signs of gaining on them, making a sharp right every time a street shows up without a ‘dead end’ sign on it.

“Are you even sure where we are anymore?” Oli asks, sincerely doubting that Kellin has managed to keep track of where they are throughout this entire escapade.

“Um,” Kellin says, looking around them and then checking the rearview mirror. “Nope. Not a clue. But I should be able to find our way to Frank’s. If we can get to an area that I even sort of know, I can get us back.”

“Actually – wait a second,” Oli says, turning around in his seat to scrutinize the street they’ve just turned down, “I know where we are!”

“Really?” Kellin asks, kind of astonished. “Hell yes, and we’ve lost those jackasses too. Is there any possible way we could switch vehicles? Do you have a car or something?”

“Take a left. I’ve got just thing,” he says, grinning like a child that’s just found out what he’s getting for Christmas.

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‘Just the thing’ happens to be a BMW M3 in perfect condition, hidden underneath a tarp in the garage of a condominium complex.

“This is _yours_?” Kellin asks, absolutely dumbfounded.

“Hell yeah it is. It was a gift from a friend,” Oli says, “But we need to go and get the keys from my place upstairs, so cross your fingers that my key still works and the building manager hasn’t kicked me out yet.”

Thankfully, his key works, and if Kellin thought the BMW was surprising, Oli’s place is even more of a shock. Although it’s not the biggest, it certainly is spacious and well decorated, with a large flat screen television mounted to the wall and some expensive-looking pieces of art fixed to the wall parallel to it.

“You live here? In this apartment?” Kellin asks, stunned tone still apparent in his voice.

“Condo,” Oli corrects, “and yes, even though I mostly stay at Andy’s. This place was a gift from the same friend that gave me the car.”

“Whoever this person is, I want their money,” Kellin says.

“The only reason I even have all this in the first place is because I literally had nothing, and my friend said she ‘owed me’ because I’d taken care of some shit for her. Shit I’m not proud of and shit I’m not going to talk about,” Oli says, rifling through various coat pockets in the closet to find the keys to the BMW. “All of it boils down to why I live alone and not with my parents or brother, and that’s all you get to know.”

Kellin understands that pressing the conversation further would be useless, so he refrains from asking the questions that are begging to jump off the edge of his tongue and falls silent.

“Aha!” Oli exclaims, emerging triumphant with keys in hand, and they leave the truck in the parking garage where the BMW had been with intentions to come and pick it up later.

The ride to Frank’s house is quiet and uneventful, the only real conversation taking place being when Kellin tells Oli which way to turn, the radio otherwise filling the silence. When they pull up to Frank’s house, Oli grabs his arm.

“I’m going to continue to pretend that I hate your fucking guts again, but you’re actually not as bad as you could be. I mean, you’re annoying as fuck pretty much all the time, but other than that you’re pretty alright.”

Kellin smiles. “You’re not too bad either. But no one else can know that I think that.”

“All this is top secret. If you say anything, I’ll punch you in the face,” Oli says, partially joking, and partially serious.

“Ditto. Except I don’t want to go anywhere near your face so I’ll just shove you down the stairs. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Almost immediately after they get out of the car and approach the house, they’re bombarded by Frank and Gerard, who are both, to be blunt, freaking the hell out.

“Where the hell _were_ you? We almost thought you died, you were gone for so long!” Frank shouts, grabbing onto Kellin and hugging him tightly.

“Well we had to lose them, and that can take a while,” Kellin explains calmly. “We happened to wind up in the area where Oli lives, so we switched out cars and then came straight back here.”

“Are you sure you didn’t steal that car?” Gerard asks, eyeing the BMW suspiciously, and understandably so.

“Nope, it’s mine,” Oli confirms. “Now can we get inside? All that stress from being in the car with this psychopathic fuck has worn me out.”

“Oh, like you’re such a fucking picnic to deal with,” Kellin retorts.

“Shut the fuck up.”

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“I’m staying with you two now. I decided,” Gerard says the second they’re all sitting down and in some semblance of comfortable.

“What? No,” Frank protests, “What about your brother? You need to be with him, somebody has to look after him.”

“Mike is doing pretty okay on his own, and Vic lives with you two. And I mean, if all else fails, I can just have him stay with Pete. Even though that’s not my favorite option, it’s viable.”

“Gerard, you’re making this decision kind of rashly,” Oli says. “You’re still freaked out and you might not be thinking completely clearly right now.”

“I don’t care if I’m not thinking clearly, what happened today is preventable and if I know I can do something about it, I want to do something about it. Mikey is capable of being on his own, and I’d still call him and whatever to check in and all that.”

“I’m against it,” Kellin says from the floor where he has currently situated himself, wrapped in a couple blankets, leaving only his face visible.

“Were you ever going to be _for_ it?” Frank asks.

“Well, no, but that’s not the point. Even if I could be for it, which is impossible, I still would think it’s a bad idea. Mostly because Mom is going to have no idea what to do with five teenage boys suddenly living with her.”

“She’s hardly ever home though,” Frank counters.

“She still has to feed us all, somehow.”

“I can pay for my own food, if that’s what it takes,” Gerard says.

“You just might have to. Look, I don’t know, I didn’t ask mom’s permission for Vic and Oli to move in last time and that didn’t go over too well, if Frank hadn’t been there to back me up my ass would’ve been handed to me on a silver platter, and doing that again seems like a really unwise move,” Kellin says.

“So ask her,” Gerard says, shrugging.

“It’s not that simple! I can’t just ask my mother, who works two jobs and is gone almost all night and half of the day to sacrifice _more_ room and _more_ provisions that she can’t afford to sacrifice just for some over-protective borderline paranoid boy who has a stupid crush on her stepson! Have some fucking respect, it’s not all about you!”

Silence falls over the room abruptly and thickly.

“That.... that was a little harsh,” Oli says.

“Oh shut the fuck up, you’re one of the fuckers mooching off of my mom, you don’t get to tell me what’s harsh.”

“Kellin’s right. Asking mom to take in any more people is selfish and rude,” Frank concurs.

Gerard stares at his hands silently. “I’m sorry.”

“Damn fucking right you are. Look, I get that you’re worried about Frank, I am too, but you can’t just _decide_ that you’re going to move in with somebody without asking, or thinking ahead, or about anyone else in the situation. Frank has Oli, Vic, and I. The three of us should be able to keep him safe, which I doubt he will need, because he can handle himself.”

“Yeah... I’m.... I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay Gee,” Frank assures, leaning into Gerard’s side. “I’ll be alright.”


	18. Chapter 18

****

Although Gerard didn’t know it, and although he now most definitely thinks he’s alone in his fears, in reality more people share his worries than he thinks.

Kellin, for one, hasn’t stopped looking over his shoulder since he and Oli got in that car chase, and he’s noticed Oli checking the doors and windows three or four times before finally heading to bed, and Vic just seems to be living in some sort of alternate reality, not really paying complete attention to the direness of the situation.

As for Frank, Kellin’s not sure that he’s ever seen someone more paranoid. Although it’s not unusual for Frank to hate being alone for extended periods of time, lately he’s been doing that thing that he does where he pleads with his eyes for Kellin to not leave him alone a lot more often than usual. Kellin doesn’t mind, though. He’s willing to do whatever he’s got to to keep Frank safe and as stable as he can be.

Even though he knows that Frank has been pretending to sleep for the last hour.

It’s late at night, probably somewhere near one in the morning. Kellin doesn’t usually actually fall asleep for another hour, so he’s been paying close attention to Frank’s breathing, and he’s known Frank long enough to know when he’s asleep and when he’s pretending.

“I know you’re not really asleep,” Kellin whispers, poking Frank’s ribs gently.

“Maybe I am and you’re hallucinating this conversation,” Frank whispers back, batting at Kellin’s hand.

“Did you just _hit me_?” Kellin whisper-yells in mock offense.

“Yes, and I’ll hit you harder if I have to.”

“Bring it, midget,” he whispers back, making a weak jab with his elbow towards Frank’s stomach.

Frank sits up abruptly and grabs his pillow, smacking Kellin with it as hard as he can as many times as he can, and it seems that Kellin has successfully found Frank’s breaking point.

“Wow, you sure can hit hard for a fucking munchkin,” Kellin says, grinning. That statement proves to be a mistake, because the next hit from the pillow is insanely hard and directly to his face, and it is rapidly proceeded by more, equally painful blows still on his face.

“Ow, okay, okay! Stop! Uncle! Jesus, Frank, fucking stop it, you win!” he says, almost at complete volume, so he tries his hardest to quiet his voice so that no one else wakes up. Vic would probably just swear at them and go back to sleep, but Oli would more than likely try to throw Kellin out the window.

Frank stops, glaring at Kellin and smiling, completely failing to look any sort of menacing, pillow still in hand. “See what happens if you call me midget again, motherfucker.”

“....Midget.”

And with that, Frank shoves him out of the bed.

He lands with a hard _thud_ , catching himself poorly with his elbows (which are most definitely going to bruise), probably managing to wake up Oli and Vic at the same time as injuring himself. He has a true talent.

“Fucking _ow_ ,” Kellin says, laughing, rolling onto his stomach and resting his face on the floor. “You’re an angry little Oompa Loompa, aren’t you?”

“I swear to god, if my arms weren’t tired from trying to break your face with this pillow, I would punch you so hard right now,” Frank hisses.

“What, exactly, is going on?” Oli groggily murmurs, voice partially muffled.

“Frank’s trying to kill me with a pillow,” Kellin says calmly.

“Good. He’s doing the world a fucking service.”

“I’m insulted. In fact, I’m so insulted, that I’m going to sleep in between you and Vic, because Frank _obviously_ doesn’t want me, and you insulted me,” Kellin says.

“Oh fuck no,” Oli says, instantly more awake. “No. Hell no. You stay over there.”

“Nope. It’s too late. This is happening,” he says, grabbing a blanket from the floor and happily situating himself on the air mattress in between Vic and Oli.

“You know, Frank had the right idea. I’m going to suffocate you with a pillow now,” Oli says as he sits up, pillow in hand, but Kellin has already ducked underneath his blanket and is thus impervious to any suffocation attacks.

“Cut it out, Oli. It’s late. I’m sure we’re all tired. Let the fucker sleep here,” Vic says.

“My knight in shining armor,” Kellin says, reaching out and gracelessly patting Vic’s face, poking him in the eye in the process.

Oli groans and shoves his face back into the pillow. “Why do you have to be such a brat?”

“You love it,” Kellin says.

“I’m going to shove you in front of a semi-truck,” Oli declares passively.

“Later. Sleep first,” Vic mumbles, having already mostly fallen back asleep.

Reluctantly, Oli lays back down and curls up on his side, facing _away_ from Kellin, and tries his hardest to ignore the weight and the too-close-ness of another person on this already small mattress and closes his eyes, even though he knows that he probably won’t be able to sleep.

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Mike is fucking tired and he misses his brother.

Those are pretty much the only two things he can focus on right now. Everything else just won’t... stick to his brain. It’s fleeting, like a rock skipping across a lake before it falls beneath the surface.

He’s sitting in the floor of Tony’s room, staring blankly at the wall, feeling pretty fucking shitty. He doesn’t remember much of what happened last night, but he knows he fucked up, and he knows he fucked up badly. Guilt is eating him alive, ripping his skin from his bones and leaving him so raw and hopeless.

Or maybe that’s the comedown.

He can’t tell.

“Mike?” a voice says from the doorway, but he doesn’t look up at them.

“Mike, come on, I’m taking you over to Gerard and Mikey’s,” they say, and Mike doesn’t move. He doesn’t want to.

“Jesus Christ, Mike, just get up. Don’t make me call your brother,” they threaten.

“Call him. I don’t give a fuck.”

They sigh heavily and leave the doorway, leaving Mike to happily resume staring blankly at the blue of the walls.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there for, but the next time someone comes to interrupt him in his peaceful state, there’s three people instead of one and they’re all talking and there’s too much noise.

“Mike, hey,” someone says, and they kneel down next to Mike. He looks over at them, just long enough to see their face.

Mikey.

“C’mon dude, I’m gonna take you home now, okay?” he says, putting a hand on Mike’s shoulder, voice soothing, like he’s talking to an injured child.

“Home as in _where_?” Mike asks flatly, darkly.

“Home as in I’m taking you over to see Vic,” Mikey responds.

“Really?” Mike asks.

“Yeah, really,” he says.

“I thought we weren’t gonna tell Vic about how much of a monumental fuckup I am,” he says bitterly.

“We’re not. We’re just going to tell him that you’re having a hard day or whatever and he’s going to look after you.”

“You _really_ expect him to believe that? How well do you know my brother? He’ll know that something is up the second he looks at me,” Mike says, standing up, pushing past Tony and Pete, who are blocking the door. “Just take me fucking home, Mikey, and let me be a pile of shit in peace.”

Behind him, he hears Mikey sigh, and Tony says his name really softly, but Mike doesn’t give a fuck. He can feel the hatred they have for him rolling off of them like fog off of a bank.

He’s already out the door.

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The second he’s back at Mikey’s house, Mike climbs on the roof through his bedroom window and chainsmokes until he’s gone through two solid packs of cigarettes and is halfway through pack number three.

Mike hates himself. He really fucking hates himself. Staring down at his shoes, he suddenly realizes that the angle of the roof beneath his feet looks particularly tantalizing right now.

“Mike?” someone says, and he doesn’t even turn around. Human interaction is not something that he wants right now, or ever.

“Come down from the roof please,” they say.

“No,” he says around the cigarette in his mouth.

“Please?” they say again.

“No,” he repeats.

“Fine. Be like that.”

He hears the window close behind him and he doesn’t care. Mike doesn’t fucking care.

Three-quarters of the way through pack number three, his phone starts to buzz with an incoming phone call.

It’s Jaime.

Mike doesn’t even think and answers the call.

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It’s been a really long time since Mike’s gone to a party without residual guilt festering beneath his skin. Right now, he doesn’t feel guilty, he doesn’t feel sad, fuck, he doesn’t feel _anything_.

And it’s wonderful.

This house is different than the last one, and Mike wonders if Jaime is purposefully jumping locations, or if someone else has a party and Jaime just comes in and takes it over.

It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that he’s got an entire bottle of whiskey to himself, an over-affectionate Jaime draping himself over Mike’s arm, and he’s so fucking high off of these weird ass pills that some pretty blonde girl handed him that he can’t even fucking _see_.

He dances with anybody and everybody, takes basically anything he’s handed, downs half the bottle of whiskey while people around him cheer him on.

Mike’s on cloud nine. A really blurry cloud nine.

And he ascends to cloud ten when his phone starts ringing and Jaime takes it out of his hands and removes the battery, throwing both somewhere that Mike doesn’t care to think about because Jaime is kissing him.

It’s not like he and Jaime have never fucked before, it’s just been a while and Mike had forgotten that having sex with Jaime was something he could do. Mostly, it was a casual thing, an ‘I’m high, you’re high, I’m cute, you’re cute, let’s fuck’ sort of deal.

“I think I’m in love with you,” Mike slurs against the pillow afterward, mostly joking, but part of him isn’t. He feels like he’s floating, happily laying on his stomach, and honestly, he could probably tell every person he sees that he loves them and mean it at least a little bit.  

“Love you too,” Jaime mumbles back, slightly more coherent, just a teeny bit more sober.

“Take a nap with me?” Mike asks quietly.

“You could not _pay_ me to get up right now,” Jaime replies.

Mike reaches for Jaime’s hand and tangles their fingers together, smiling, just wanting touch, some kind of comfort, because he knows that when he wakes up he’s gonna be in one fuck of a lot of trouble.

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Either he didn’t sleep for very long or the party is still going strong when he wakes up again. Jaime is awake next to him, but not functional awake, just lying there, staring up at the ceiling, eyes completely out of focus.

“I should go put the battery back in my phone,” Mike says, “but I’m really warm and I don’t want to move.”

“We probably better get up,” Jaime says regretfully. “We were out for like, two hours.”

“Fuck,” Mike mutters, dropping his head back onto his pillow. “What time is it?”

“Three in the morning? Three-thirty? Something like that.”

“Shit. I should definitely get home.”

“I’ll drive you,” Jaime says, sliding out of bed and rubbing his face really hard while he stares at his clothes in the floor.

“You don’t have to,” Mike replies, “I got here on my own just fine.”

“Yeah, but I want to spend more time with you. Plus, I’m like, half a point more sober than you, and I wanna make sure that you get back safely,” Jaime says with a smile while he buttons up his pants.

“Does this mean that I can drink more on the car ride back?” Mike asks hopefully.

“If you get out of bed, yeah.”

Mike all but jumps out of bed. “I’m up. No backsies.”

Jaime grins at him, one of his real, genuine grins, and ushers him out of the bedroom and downstairs.

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Mike doesn’t put his battery back into his phone until he’s drank nearly a quarter of the previously unopened bottle of liquor that Jaime had given to him, as promised, and they’re about fifteen minutes away from Mikey’s house, where Mike figures he should go, just to get the impending confrontation out of the way.

Immediately, his phone starts frantically buzzing with missed calls, voicemails, and unopened texts. Most of them are from Tony, a fair chunk are from Mikey, and there are even a couple from Pete.

The voicemails from Tony in particular are the angriest. Mikey just sounds worried, and Pete just sounds worried because Mikey is worried.

“Shit,” Mike chuckles, “Everybody _loves_ me.”

“Babysitters not happy with you?” Jaime asks.

“I’m pretty sure they’d rather see me fucking dead right now,” Mike says.

“Should – should I stick around for a little bit after I drop you off just to make sure things are alright?” Jaime says cautiously.

“Nah,” Mike responds, “They might really want me dead, but they won’t do jack shit. These guys aren’t my brother, I don’t have to worry about intense as fuck lockdowns.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, it’s okay. I’ll be okay. I’ll make sure I call you tomorrow while I’m a hungover zombie so you know that I didn’t die,” Mike says.

_That_ makes Jaime laugh.

They pull into Mikey’s driveway, and Mike’s absolutely _thrilled_ to see that pretty much every light in the goddamn house is on.

“Oh joy,” Mike says flatly. “People waited up for me.”

Jaime cuts the engine and looks over at Mike, staring at him like he’s trying to see into the depths of his soul, and Mike wants to curl into himself.

“You sure you don’t want me to wait around for you?”

“I’m sure. You don’t need to get into the middle of this. I’m the one who’s a huge fuckup, not you. I brought this upon myself.”

Jaime sighs reluctantly. “Alright. Be safe, yeah?”

“I’ll do what I can,” Mike says, and he leans across the center console to give Jaime a surprisingly chaste kiss, considering everything they’d done.

“Wait,” Jaime says as Mike is pulling away, and he grabs the back of Mike’s skull and kisses him again.

“One more,” he says, and grabs Mike’s face one last time, kisses him hard, and lets him go.

“I’ll see you soon,” Mike promises, and he finally, but reluctantly, gets out of Jaime’s car and feels like he’s walking his way to the electric chair as he makes his way toward the house.

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“Where the fuck have you _been_?” Tony demands, jumping out of his chair and cornering Mike against the inside of the door the literal second Mike walks in.

“Out with people who like me,” Mike says casually, purposefully not looking at Tony’s face.

“Did you do anything?” Tony asks harshly, gripping his arm tightly.

“I did _somebody_.”

Tony looks taken aback for a second, like that was the last thing he was expecting Mike to say. He recovers quickly, though, and instantly goes back to interrogating.

“Drugs, Mike, did you do drugs?”

“Yep. I did a lot of them. I also probably gave myself alcohol poisoning, and I hope it kills me,” he says calmly.

“Jesus Christ, Mike. Why the fuck would you _do_ this?” Tony asks desperately.

“I’m a piece of shit, Tony, I thought we’d established this already.”

“You’re not a piece of shit, Mike.”

“I’ll believe that when hell freezes over,” Mike snorts.

“You’re _not a piece of shit_ ,” Tony insists.

“Then why do I constantly feel like one, huh? Explain to me how I’m not a piece of shit when all I seem to be able to do is break people’s trust. Explain to me, Tony, how I’m such a fucking great person when I do so many fucking drugs I can’t see straight. Please, oh pretty please, remind me how I’m not a piece of shit when we fucking met because I bought drugs from you. And you weren’t even the first dealer I’d ever visited, oh no, I’ve been at this for a while. I don’t care about anything beyond the next high, the next fuck, the next drink, the next _anything_ to take me out of my head. Tell me one more fucking time about how I’m not a piece of shit.”

Tony’s face falls instantly.

“Listen, I’m fucking tired. I just wanna go to bed. See you tomorrow, if I don’t fucking die,” Mike spits, shoving past Tony and dragging himself upstairs.

As he falls onto his bed, he wishes that he’d just stayed with Jaime.

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	19. Chapter 19

Kellin doesn’t sleep, and not because he can’t, but because he doesn’t want to.

He can feel nightmares lurking, and he knows that if he makes the astronomical mistake of closing his eyes terror will descend upon him like a hawk on a mouse and there’s absolutely no way he can handle that right now.

So he lifts himself off of the air mattress as carefully as he can, trying not to wake Vic or OIi, and he walks downstairs into the still-persistent darkness and collapses into one of the chairs at the kitchen table, spreading his arms out across the surface and resting his forehead on the placemat in front of him. The only light on the whole bottom floor of the house coming through the big kitchen window from the neighbor’s porch light outside, and if anyone were to walk into the room right then, all they would see was a shadow.

A dog is barking in the distance. The horrifically off time clock in the living room ticks. Cars are passing by, one by one, periodic whirrs breaking Kellin’s silence.

The world moves around him and Kellin sits there and lets it.

He has no idea what time it is or how long he’s been sitting there for when suddenly Frank is beside him and pulling him out of his chair, crying harder than Kellin thinks he’s ever seen _anyone_ cry.

“Shit, Frankie, what’s wrong?” Kellin asks, immediately pulling Frank into a tight and protective hug.

“W-we need to g-go home. Now,” Frank manages to say through shaky and gasping sobs.

“Home? We are home Frankie.”

“ _No_ ,” Frank insists. “ _Home_. T-to Dad’s h-house. Now. Right now.”

“We really shouldn’t leave without Vic or Oli -”

“I’m going no matter whether or not you come. I’ll fucking walk if I have to. I’ll hitchhike. We need to go home Kellin,” Frank says, and Kellin squints at his face in the nearly nonexistent amount of light. He can see his flushed and damp cheeks, how his nose is red (like it always is when he cries), how obvious his freckles have become with the sudden pigmentation across his face, and he can see how strongly he feels right now, and Kellin knows if they don’t go literally right this moment the intensity of his current breakdown will skyrocket and that’s nothing that either of them can afford right now.

“Okay, Frankie. Put on some shoes. We’ll go.”

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“Dad?” Kellin calls out into the house, gesturing for Frank to just go ahead and head up to their room.

There’s no response.

“Dad?” Kellin says again.

Still, silence.

“Fucking hell,” Kellin murmurs, and he knows that their dad isn’t home, meaning he’s either sleeping at someone else’s house or still, for some godforsaken reason, out at a bar.

Kellin shakes his head and walks upstairs to join Frank.

Their room is exactly as they had left it, an absolute mess – clothes are everywhere, schoolwork that’s probably at least a little important is scattered about the floor (obviously having escaped the monstrous pile on the dresser), and the window still has duct tape over the bullet hole from the first night they met Gerard. The room is the picture perfect example of how teenagers live.

“Dad’s gone?” Frank asks from beneath his small blanket pile.

“Yup,” Kellin says casually as he unlaces his shoes. This isn’t anything new. Frank and Kellin are dependent on each other and only each other for a reason. Neither of their parents were ever around long enough for Kellin and Frank to even begin attempting a relationship with them, let alone a dependency.

“Did you turn your phone off?”

“Yup,” Kellin says again. He’d texted Oli that he and Frank had left, and he knows that when Oli and Vic wake up shit will hit the fan, but in the meantime Frank needs to be 100% isolated from the rest of the world (apart from Kellin). He’ll handle Vic and Oli when the time comes.

“Can you -” Frank starts to say, and then he shakes his head. “Never mind.”

“Can I what?” Kellin asks, prompting Frank to finish his sentence. This is a very familiar routine, Kellin having to coax Frank into completing his thoughts so that Kellin can actually help.

“Can you – don’t – don’t sleep in the bathtub tonight, please? Stay with me?” Frank says quietly.

Kellin smiles. “I was gonna stay with you whether you wanted me to or not.”

They squish in next to each other on the tiny mattress, any sense of personal boundaries completely eliminated as the two approach unconsciousness.

Kellin resolves, just before sleep swallows him, that he’ll interrogate Frank about all of this tomorrow.

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Andy doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s come to rely _heavily_ on Ashley these last few weeks.

_Heavily_.

It’s not really his fault that without Oli he’s finding it nearly impossible to function. It’s also not really his fault that Ashley just happens to have stepped up and filled that gap. Ashely’s the one that’s always there for him now, he’s the one who Andy’s venting to about his problems, Ashley’s the one who knows everything that’s possible to know about Andy and Andy’s life.

If Ashely left him, Andy knows that he would collapse. Especially since Oli’s not around anymore.

He almost feels the same way about Oli as he did about Juliet when she died, and this revelation sits sinking and rotting in his stomach. Everything feels so... backwards. Even amongst this sense of normalcy that he and Ashley have developed.

Andy ignores the feelings wasting away in the pit of his stomach and just sits in the floor of his room with Ashley, drinking like they often do together, laughing together and smiling and all this artificial safety just feels _right_ in that moment. There’s this solid feeling of closeness and joy and Andy could ride this high forever.

“You know,” Ashley says, smile wide, leaning in close to touch Andy’s cheek, “You have really pretty eyes.”

And Andy, well, Andy does the most logical thing he can think of.

He kisses Ashley.

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When Mike wakes up, it’s approaching 2 PM and he’s been woken up by the sound of extremely loud arguing.

His head and body aches and pounds, and if he didn’t recognize the two voices drifting his way from downstairs, he’d ignore it and go back to sleep.

But he recognizes Tony’s voice.

And then Jaime’s.

And then he knows that he needs to get downstairs right that fucking second, hangover be damned.

He stands with a rush and the room swims, but he pushes through it and stumbles to the door, and then down the stairs, all with the grace of one of those pop-back-up-punching-bag-thingies.

The scene in front of him is one that Mike knows was inevitable, but it’s one that he’s been dreading. Tony has Jaime more or less cornered (he’s not necessarily cornered, especially since Jaime’s got teeth bared and words flying too), finger jabbing into his chest, accusations flying from his mouth at an insane speed, and Jaime’s yelling back, accusatory, cruel words, and it all makes Mike’s head hurt like someone’s stabbed him through the back of the skull with an icepick.

Luckily for him, the anger in the room decreases once the two see Mike.

“What – what’s going on? And please, pretty fucking _please_ , tell me without yelling,” Mike asks quietly, voice breathy and tired.

“ _This thing_ ,” Tony growls, “showed up asking about you. I refused to let him in. He said that he had a ‘right’ to see you, I told him that that was bullshit and that he was only here to fuck you up more -”

“Which I’m fucking _not_ ,” Jaime seethes.

“Oh come the fuck on!” Tony yells. “He didn’t get that fucked up last night for no fucking reason! You encourage him to do horrible things! You’re the one who made him like this!”

“Will you shut the fuck up?” Mike shouts in response, stepping in between Jaime and Tony. “He didn’t make me like this! He’s have never once forced me to do anything! Jaime cares about me, really actually cares about me! He drove me home last night! He offered to stay! He literally spent the night making sure I was as safe as I could be! I got this fucked up last night because of _you_ , you blind fucking idiot!”

Tony is stunned into silence.

“We need to leave,” Mike mutters, turning to a concerned, wide-eyed Jaime.

“Whatever you need,” Jaime says back at an equally quiet volume.

The two are halfway out the door when Tony grabs Mike’s wrist.

“Wait,” Tony says. “Can I talk to you for a second? Just you?”

Mike breathes in slowly through his nose and out through his mouth. He nods to Jaime, who whispers a quiet “I’ll be back for you in ten minutes” before slipping out the door.

“What the fuck do you want?” Mike spits.

“What do you mean, you did this because of me?” Tony says.

Mike snorts. “It’s not exactly code, Tony.”

“Explain it to me at the least, please.”

“I got really fucked up,” Mike says slowly, like he’s talking to a child, “because you make me feel horrible about myself and my choices.”

“Mike,” Tony says with a sigh, “I don’t mean to hurt you, okay? I really don’t. I just care about you. And worry about you.”

“And look at where that’s gotten us.”

“Goddammit, I only act the way I do because I love you!” Tony shouts, obviously having reached his final breaking point.

“Yeah? Well, my mother loved me too, and that worked out great,” Mike says bitterly.

“No, Mike, I mean I’m _in love with you_.”

Mike shakes his head. “I don’t believe you. And it’s been ten minutes. I’m done with this. If you need me, I’ll be with Jaime.”

He turns and walks out the door, leaving a stunned and slack-jawed Tony behind him.

Jaime looks at him inquisitively once he’s seated in the car.

“Are you okay? What’d he say?”

“I don’t – I don’t really wanna talk about it,” he says quietly.

“I understand. As long as you’re gonna be alright,” Jaime says.

“I’ll be okay if you kiss me,” Mike says with a smile.

Jaime smiles back, happy and genuine, and does as asked.

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Kellin and Frank just lay in their bed for the majority of the day, talking to each other at very low, quiet volumes, marathoning various Netflix shows and only moving from their respective halves of the bed to either pee or get more junk food. Their world, in this moment, is safe and comfortable, just the two of them and nobody else. They’re happy and they’re peaceful and any sign of instability from the early morning has all but vanished.

Their dad has since come home, surprised to see his children, of course, but happy to see them nonetheless. He didn’t ask many questions, he just smiled and waved and told them there was money on the table for pizza if they wanted it and lumbered off to bed to sleep off the remnants of whatever he’d been doing the night before.

It’s well into the evening when Kellin finally turns his phone back on, and it spends nearly two minutes buzzing with the influx of undelivered messages, most of them from Vic, but a substantial few are from who Kellin guesses to be Gerard (as he doesn’t remember giving Gerard his number, and the number isn’t saved to his phone).

He opens an entire two messages before tossing his phone to the side and turning to Frank.

“Hey,” he says quietly, elbowing Frank’s ribs somewhat gently.

Frank doesn’t take his eyes away from the screen and makes a sound in response.

“What was up with last night?” he asks.

Frank shrugs. “Bad night.”

“Tell me the truth.”

“That _is_ the truth.”

“No, I mean, tell me what was actually going on. Why were you crying so much? What was the urgency?” Kellin asks patiently. Getting to Frank’s feelings has always been a process and then some.

Frank sighs and gracelessly rolls over to his back from his stomach, elbows reddened from holding up his weight for so long, and hides his face beneath a pillow.

“I had a nightmare. I wanted to be somewhere that I knew. That was all,” he says from beneath the pillow, voice horribly muffled.

“Wanna talk about it?” Kellin offers.

 The pillow snorts. “Absolutely fucking not.”

“Understandable,” Kellin says, “but we should really be getting back to mom’s house. Oli is going to skin one, if not both of us, alive.”

“Yeaaaaah,” Frank says while he stretches, having put the pillow back behind his head, “but I want gummy worms. I think I’m gonna go to the 7/11, want anything?”

“You shouldn’t go by yourself,” Kellin murmurs, picking at the hem of his shirt.

“Then are you gonna get up and put on shoes? And pants that aren’t sweatpants? And are you gonna do all of that in the next two minutes?”

“God no.”

“Then I’ll see you in a little bit,” Frank says as he stands up and starts trying to jam his foot into one of his still-laced shoes.

“Frank,” Kellin protests, “I don’t know if you should really go by yourself, seriously. Oli’s already mad, he’s just gonna get more upset if he finds out one of us went somewhere completely alone.”

“Kellin, if you climb on top of the roof, you can see the 7/11 I’m about to walk to. If it would make you feel better, you can sit on the goddamn roof and make sure I get there safely. Besides, _when_ did you care about what Oliver thought? It’ll be fine, I promise. Pinky promise,” Frank assures. Kellin exhales.

“Okay, Frankie. Okay.”

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“I’m going to kill that lanky, pretty eyed son of a bitch the next time I see him, I swear to god,” Oli spits through gritted teeth, pacing back and forth furiously.

“If you keep talking like that you’re going to make people think you’re in love with him,” Vic says.

“Shut the fuck up before I blow your brains out.”

Vic raises his hands in mock surrender. “Listen, it’s not the first time that Andy’s been hard to get a hold of. You don’t need to act like some kind of scorned wife over all of this.”

Oli stops, mid-pace, and turns to Vic with a horrifying, violent look on his face.

“I don’t know if you understand this, _Victor_ , but two people, two very vulnerable people, one of whom is your boyfriend, may I remind you, have flashing neon targets painted on their backs and are without protection. They could be dead this very fucking minute and we wouldn’t know,” he growls.

“They’re not dead. Or hurt. They probably just went over to Frank’s house for the night or something. Take yourself down a couple notches dude.”

A response is halfway out of Oli’s mouth when his phone rings in his hand, and the anger melts quickly from his face and his body language.

“Kellin – Kellin calm down – Breathe, okay? Tell me where you are,” he says in such a shockingly even voice that Vic is caught off guard.

“Hey, hey. Breathe,” he says gently, “Vic and I are on our way, keep him conscious. Make him recite the Gettysburg address, or something. I need to drive now, will you be okay if I hang up?”

Vic doesn’t hear the response. He’s grabbed the keys to Oli’s car and is out the door before Oli’s even hung up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter is so short and so disjointed.


	20. Chapter 20

Something’s wrong.

Gerard knows it. He _knows_ it. It’s boiling in the root of his core, it’s making his hands twitch with anxiety, he can’t focus on anything around him.

Something’s very wrong.

Mikey’s picked up on his jumpiness throughout the day, but he hasn’t asked any questions, just looked up from his phone for a flicker of a second to raise an eyebrow at Gerard, and then shrug and look back down when Gerard mumbles ‘it’s nothing’.

 The lockdown their mother has imposed upon them is brutal. She’s finally become suspicious of their friend group and their ‘extracurricular activities’ and has banned them from having friends over for at least a month (or until she stops paying attention).

This, along with the gnawing anxiety, is making Gerard feel like he’s about to lose it.

“Gee,” Mikey says, appearing in the doorway of Gerard’s room for a couple of seconds, not looking up from his beloved phone, “Call him if you’re so worked up.”

“I – I’ve _tried_ ,” Gerard says, “He hasn’t picked up. I called Kellin too, and he didn’t pick up either.”

“Did you call anyone else?” Mikey asks.

Gerard sniffs, “I called Vic.”

“And?”

“He didn’t answer either.”

Mikey sighs and shoves his phone in his pocket.

“Get your shit together. I’ll bust you out of here.”

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Mike has found himself, once again, drunk, high, and having the time of his fucking life.

Jaime’s taken him to a party somewhere in the suburbs, he’s surrounded by rich kids and lavish, expensive, easily stolen items that aforementioned rich kids obviously forgot to hide, and _god_ , is he on some kind of hellish joyride. He can feel the comedown itching beneath his skin, but he’s not about to let it anywhere near him.

Tonight, he plans to drink until he dies, until he doesn’t hear Tony’s voice echoing in his head anymore, saying _those_ words.

Oops. He thought about _him_ again. Mike’s obviously not wasted enough.

“Hey, hey baby,” he says, catching Jaime’s arm as he’s passing by, “do they have anything harder than beer here?”

Jaime gives him a giant grin. “Check the kitchen. I think I saw a bottle of black cherry vodka with your name on it.”

Mike grabs his face and kisses him. “I _love_ you.”

“Love you too,” Jaime says. “And when you’re done with the vodka, come and find me again. I’ve got some stuff I know you’re really gonna like.”

“Will do,” Mike promises, and gives him one more kiss before heading in the direction that he thinks the kitchen is in.

Sure enough, there’s a bottle of black cherry vodka in the kitchen that literally has his name on it (poorly scribbled, reading “FOR MIKE. NO TOUCHY, EVERYONE WHO’S NOT MIKE” progressively slanting off of the bottle with each letter), and he’s a good three quarters of the way through the bottle when Jaime finds him, instead of waiting for Mike to drunkenly seek him out in what would’ve probably been another half an hour.

“C’mere,” Jaime mumbles, tugging on the corner of Mike’s collar. “Come – come _here_.”

Mike giggles and stumbles closer to Jaime. “M’here.”

“Okay,” Jaime says, nodding. “Okay, okay. C’mere,” he says, and starts pulling Mike in the direction of a staircase.

He follows Jaime, giggling and stumbling and still taking long swigs from the vodka as they slog their way through the crowd and upstairs.

They eventually find themselves leaning against a wall, kissing and mumbling nonsensically to each other.

“Mmf,” Mike says against Jaime’s mouth, “Wanna fuck?”

“Uh, _yes_ ,” Jaime says. “Which room?”

Mike makes a face – this ridiculous pout that he makes when he’s thinking – and looks around them. “Let’s try that one,” he says, pointing to the door parallel to them.

Jaime pushes on the handle, but it’s locked. “Really? They leave the entire contents of the china cabinet on display and easily accessible but they lock _this_?” he says in exasperation.

“Lemme at it,” Mike says, nudging Jaime out of the way. “ _I_ have a paperclip.”

“Are you sure you can –” Jaime starts to say, but Mike jimmies the door open before he’s even finished his sentence, opening the door with a flourish.

“Ooooh, satin sheets,” Mike says, flopping onto the bed, and then sitting up abruptly. “Hey, what stuff do you have for me?” he asks excitedly.

Jaime sighs and looks down at the floor.

“Actually I – I lied about that. I don’t have anything for you.”

Mike sticks out his bottom lip, and then proceeds to shrug and take another massive drink of vodka.

“Doesn’t matter,” Mike says. “As long as we still fuck? Please?”

Jaime closes the door softly behind them and looks down at the floor. “Look, we need to talk.”

Oh god. Oh no.

“What about?” Mike says quietly.

“Look, Mike, Tony had a point earlier,” Jaime says at an equally quiet volume. “I think you’ve got a problem. A real problem.”

“And?”

“And I don’t think we should keep seeing each other in this...” Jaime gestures uselessly. “Manner.”

“What do you mean?”

Jaime takes a deep breath. “Mike, be honest with me for a second. Just a second.”

“I – okay,” Mike says. He’s started to shake so hard that taking a drink is proving to be a challenge.

“Mike, do you only hang around with me because I give you drugs?”

“No,” Mike says. “I mean, that certainly is a perk, but no.”

“Then why?”

“Because you’re cute and I like you,” Mike says matter-of-factly.

“Do you only hang around with me because we have sex?”

“No,” he says slowly, “I hang around you because you’re cute and I like you.”

 Jaime stares at the floor, and then slowly looks up at Mike. “Really?” he says, and it’s just above a whisper, Mike can hardly hear him, but he nods genuinely.

“Really.”

Jaime walks over to Mike in three quick strides, grabbing his face and kissing him hard. Mike is caught off guard and flails a bit, but he kisses back anyway, intensely.

“By the way,” Jaime says in between kisses, “I lied about lying about having stuff for you.”

Mike pulls back and stares at him like he’s spoken to him in another language. Jaime laughs at his expression and pulls out a baggie of multi-colored pills, and then Mike gets it, and he can’t hide how his entire face lights up.

“Can we take these and then fuck?” Mike asks excitedly.

“Hell yeah baby,” Jaime says, smiling as big as Mike, “Hell yeah.”

//////////////////////////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

Tony’s resting his head on his friend’s kitchen table, staring at the floor. His friend – her name is Jenna – flits about the kitchen, making some kind of warm drink for the both of them, humming some song Tony knows that he knows the name of but can’t place right now.

When Mike had left, Tony did what he does best, and immediately called his closest (and most sober) friend, because god, he gets stupid when he’s alone, and nobody knows how to deal with him quite like Jenna.

“Jenna, I’m gonna die,” he says, and Jenna sets a mug down in front of him.

“No you’re not,” she replies instantly.

“But I _am_ ,” Tony insists, not even looking up. “I’m a fucking idiot.”

Jenna sighs and sits down next to him. “Will you go through everything with me again? Just one more time?”

He groans, but lifts up his head. “Jaime came over, I got in a fight with him, Mike got up, yelled at me for yelling at Jaime, then I asked to talk to him – Mike, I mean – alone, and I wound up making the _massive mistake of telling him that I’m in love with him_ , and he told me he didn’t believe me and left with Jaime.”

She looks at him with a deep sympathy in her eyes. “That’s rough, honey. I’m sorry,” she says, and pats his elbow.

Tony snorts. “I might as well just give up on all this, you know? Mike doesn’t seem to want to change, and I’m tired of trying to make him change.”

“No no no,” Jenna says, “Tony, you can’t just give up on him. You can’t just pretend you don’t love him.”

“I can sure fucking try,” he grumbles.

Jenna stops for a second and looks at him inquisitively.

“I know you’re not fond of drugs and all, but I think you need a little whiskey in your tea,” she says after a moment.

“You know what? You’re right. You’re absolutely fucking right,” he agrees, and she leaves with something that looks like the little ghost of a sad smile and returns with a full bottle of whiskey.

He dumps at least two shots worth into his tea and then promptly chugs the liquid, burning his tongue and the roof of his mouth in the process, coughing hard for at least thirty seconds while Jenna pats him on the back.

“Easy, easy,” she whispers.

“Will you talk to me about him? About Mike?” Jenna asks, and Tony drops his head to the table again.

“What is there to talk about?”

“Tell me what made you fall in love with him.”

He sits up slowly and shrugs. “I honestly don’t even know. He puts on this show for the world, this rough exterior that he doesn’t think anybody can see through, but it breaks sometimes, and I get to see the person beneath it, and god, is the person beneath it wonderful. I can see how much he cares about people, how enthusiastic he can be about the things he’s interested in, and I just. I fell in love with that. I fell in love with the person he usually refuses to be.”

Jenna smiles and shakes her head. “Boy, you’ve got it bad.”

“I know,” Tony groans, “And I don’t know what to do about it. It’s fairly obvious that he only likes people who give him drugs,” he mumbles bitterly.

“Maybe – and I’m just saying maybe, Tony, don’t flip out on me here – but maybe, is it at all possible that you’re being too rough on him? That you’re not really emotionally supporting him in the way that would make him realize that you care?”

Tony sits in a stunned silence, realizing that she’s completely right. “Shut up, Jenna,” he mutters into his tea.

Jenna just smiles and pours a little more whiskey into his cup.

//////////////////////////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

Much to Andy’s surprise, Ashley didn’t immediately punch him in the jaw when he kissed him. In fact, he kissed back.

Which really threw, and continues to throw, Andy for a loop.

But he doesn’t think about it. He just kisses, and touches, and doesn’t think, doesn’t think, doesn’t think.

He spends days on end in this little alternate world, and it comes back to bite him in the ass when he checks his phone for the first time during the whole weekend and sees a barrage of texts and messages that he actually pushes Ashley away and swears so many times that Ashley starts to think that that’s the only word Andy can say anymore.

He grabs his keys, grabs Ashley’s arm, and they’re gone.

//////////////////////////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

Everything was not, as Frank had promised, fine.

“Okay, they’re on their way,” Kellin says, tossing his cell phone to the side.

Frank rolls his eyes – well, _eye_ , the one that’s not swollen shut, the one that he’s not holding a slowly melting bag of frozen corn over – and says, “You didn’t need to call in the cavalry for this.”

“I think I did,” Kellin retorts. “You got jumped, Frankie.”

“Yeah, and we live in a bad neighborhood. This isn’t the first time I’ve ever been jumped, you know,” Frank says, somewhat absentmindedly touching his split and still bleeding lip with his free hand.

“But it’s the first time you’ve been jumped while....” Kellin says, failing to find the correct words, “While we’ve known Gerard and Vic.”

“That doesn’t mean the two incidents are connected,” Frank protests.

“What if it does, though?”

Frank rolls his eye again. “They’re _not_ , Kellin. I’ve been jumped at least five times on the way to that same store.”

“And you didn’t even tell me that?!” Kellin shouts.

“I didn’t think I had to! You were with me one of those times!”

“Frank, getting in a fistfight with a homeless man over a half-eaten bag of chips is not ‘getting jumped’,” Kellin sighs.

Before Frank can get his response out of his mouth, Kellin hears a car door close outside.

“They’re here. Stay put,” Kellin commands.

Frank does as he’s told, albeit grumpily, and makes an attempt to balance the melting corn on his face without using his hands while voices murmur urgently downstairs.

Footsteps approach him. The corn slides off his face.

He puts it back quickly, ignores his numbing fingertips, and tries to focus his only working eye on the people in front of him. 

Somebody sighs at him. Frank makes a mocking, similar sound back.

“Don’t be snarky,” Kellin chastises.

“You’re making a big deal out of absolutely nothing,” Frank mumbles. “I will be as snarky as I please.”

Frank can blurrily see three figures in their room now. One of the three approaches him and gently removes his hand and the stupid fucking corn from his eye, tossing it back to the two figures behind them (neither of which catches it, which makes Kellin swear, and Frank laughs, and then winces, because laughing is painful) and he finds himself trying to distinguish the particulars of Oli’s face while Oli holds Frank’s face in both of his hands and carefully tilts Frank’s face in the light, using only the very tips of his fingers.

“Look to the left for me?” he murmurs, delicately guiding the good half of Frank’s face away from the light. Frank flinches without even realizing he’s done it when Oli moves his hand to brush Frank’s hair out of the way. Oli quickly apologizes, of course, and Frank looks up for a flicker of a second and sees a disbelieving expression on the face that he’s fairly sure belongs to Kellin.

“Look to the right?” Oli asks again, tilting his face just as gently the opposite direction.

“What do you think?” Vic asks from the doorway.

Oli sighs and touches Frank’s lip with the pad of his thumb.

“Well, he’s definitely going to survive,” Oli says.

“Told you!” Frank shouts, and Kellin turns around and promptly begins rhythmically thunking his head against the door frame.

“Beyond immediate survival, though,” Vic continues, completely ignoring Kellin, “What do you think?”

“I think it could be a calculated jump, but I also think it’s equally as likely to just have been some crazy dude.”

Kellin pulls himself away from the wall for a brief moment. “Really? With the eye, the ribs, everything? You think it was probably just a crazy dude?”

Oli furrows his brow and looks at Frank. “Ribs?”

Frank nods. “Fucker had a sharp thing, I don’t think it was a knife, but it was sure as hell pointy and painful.”

He hears Vic breathe in sharply and whisper “oh my god”.

“Frankie, can I see your ribs?” Oli asks. “I won’t touch, I swear. Or I’ll ask you to touch, how about that?”

“Yeah,” Frank says in response to both questions, carefully shrugging off his jacket and slowly maneuvering his shirt off.

Oli’s careful and calculating mask breaks for just a second when he sees his chest, but the mask is back quickly. He shakes his head and gives Frank a tiny, sympathetic smile.

“This guy really did a number on you kiddo,” he says, and Frank snorts.

“You should see my sleeves. He tore them to fuck before he just pushed my jacket up and fucking went for it.”

Oli crouches down so he can be more level with the wounds. “Okay to touch?” he asks, and he doesn’t move an inch before Frank nods.

“Okay,” Vic says after a few good minutes of Oli just evaluating Frank’s injuries in silence, “ _Now_ what do you think?”

He pauses right where he’s positioned, fingertips hardly ghosting over sunbursts of smudged blood on Frank’s skin, and looks Frank right in the eyes – _eye_ – and quickly looks away before answering; “It’s starting to look a lot more calculated.”

Kellin punches a wall hard enough to leave a dent in the sheetrock.

Vic’s about to say something else, but they all jump when their hear car doors close outside.

“Great,” Frank groans, “Who the fuck else is here?”

Oli steps around him and looks out the window.

“Andy,” is all he says, and he breezes past Frank, Kellin, and Vic without a word, opening the door long before anyone hears a knock.

The three stand in silence for only a few seconds before they hear shouting – aggressive, intimidating shouting – and Vic’s eyes blow wide, startled.

“I should – I should probably go do something,” he murmurs, and all Kellin does is make a sound in response.

Kellin doesn’t stay where he’s been standing for long, he looks over at Frank (not directly _at_ him, just towards him) and walks over to the bed in an almost dejected manner.

He all but collapses onto the mattress.

“You okay?” Frank asks tentatively.

“No,” Kellin snorts, and Frank wants to ask, he _knows_ he should ask, but he can’t seem to find the right words, and something in his gut tells him that no matter what he said right now, it wouldn’t reach Kellin.

The shouting from downstairs slowly begins to move upstairs, and Kellin sinks back into the bed like all he wants to do is turn invisible right there and then.

 “This is my business too, you know,” Andy shouts, and Oli laughs this sharp, sarcastic laugh.

“Ha! Right, what the fuck have you done within the last _two months_ to make any of us believe that you even care?!” Oli spits.

Andy sputters. “I – I’ve – Why would you –”

“That’s fucking right,” Oli says, the bitterness in his tone still prevalent and jabbing. “You know, it used to be if I called you, you’d pick up first ring. Wherever the fuck did _that_ go, huh?”

Once again, the words fail Andy.

“And why the fuck is _he_ here?!” Oli shouts, “We don’t even know him! He’s not one of us! He doesn’t _belong_ with us!”

“Oli,” Vic mutters, but he’s cut off by someone, a voice Frank’s not entirely familiar with yet – Ashely, he concludes – shouting an indignant “ _hey”._

“Oh, you shut the fuck up,” Oli replies, “You don’t get a say in any of this. For all we know, you orchestrated this shit.”

“He did no such thing!” Andy shouts, “I trust him! I have faith in him! He wouldn’t _do that_ , Oli!”

“Yeah, well, I think you’re putting your faith in the wrong place.”

Beside Frank, Kellin groans like he’s dying, and then lurches off of the mattress, stomping out of the room.

“Will all of you _shut the fuck up_?!” he yells, at the top of his lungs, making Frank flinch. “There’s a boy in there – _my brother_ , you idiotic, cowardly sons of bitches – who is _bleeding_ all over the fucking place! This is _our fucking house_! I swear to fucking _god_ you better hurry up and do whatever you came here for or I will gut you where you stand,” he hisses, and Frank smiles, small and quiet, to himself.

There’s silence, a stunned one no doubt.

“I’ll agree to a truce for the next hour and a half, but the second that’s up, if your fucking _boy-toy_ isn’t out of my sight by then, I’m shooting him,” Oli says so seriously that Frank’s ninety percent sure that he’ll probably have to scrape brains off of the wall later.

“Yeah, okay. Whatever. Let’s look at this,” Andy mutters.

Then there’s people in his doorway again, and Frank can feel each and every one of their gazes raking over his body.

“Oh boy,” Andy breathes.

Frank smirks and raises his arms away from his body. “I’m a work of art, aren’t I?”

“You could say that,” Andy replies.

“I’m starting to think that it’s a calculated jump,” Oli says, “The wounds are placed somewhat strategically, but they’re not deep enough to warrant stitches or a hospital trip. I feel like whoever did this had specific orders to make them like that.”

Kellin, who has flopped back on the mattress, makes another dying sound. “Great. That’s just peachy. And _so_ comforting,” he groans.

“Frank, did you see who did this?” Vic asks.

“I did, actually, and he looked like he’d waltzed right off of the cover of some 80s hair metal magazine. I’m not even kidding,” Frank says.

“Though that’s great to know, I can’t think of any members of any gangs that fit that description,” Andy says. “I’m sorry guys, but it may just stay a mystery.”

“I don’t think it will,” Oli murmurs, “You see, I think this is some kind of test. This is twice now that someone’s come after somebody specifically associated with Gerard – Not myself, not Vic, not Andy – and the last time, they didn’t get away with it. Whoever they are, they’re stupid enough to try again, but just smart enough to sic somebody who none of us can identify on their intended target to see if we’ll piece it together and raise hell like we did last time.”

“Last time?” Ashley asks.

Oli smiles. Grins, really. “Last time somebody jumped Gerard’s brother and we blew nearly every single one of their faces off.”

Ashley looks away and doesn’t make a sound in response.

“Could this have been the same people?” Kellin asks. Oli shrugs.

“Don’t know. But I’m going to find out. I promise you.”

Frank sighs, one part anxious, one part relieved. “So if I don’t need stitches, what do we do about... this?” he asks, gesturing to his chest.

“I’ll clean you up,” Oli says. “That is, if you’re okay with that?”

“Yeah, sure,” Frank nods. “I’d just like people to be done staring at me now.”

“That’s code for ‘it’s time for everyone who doesn’t live with us to fuck off’,” Kellin helpfully supplies, sitting up and pointing at Andy’s face. “That means you. Go away.”

Andy raises his hands in mock surrender and backs out of the doorway. Vic glances from Kellin, to Oli, to Andy, and then follows Andy as he heads towards the stairs, shaking his hand like he can’t believe the people he’s friends with.

Frank and Oli, meanwhile, go to the bathroom, where Kellin has already dug out two medical kits and thrown an old but clean t-shirt and a roll of paper towels (“because we don’t own any cotton balls”) on the counter.

Oli takes a sweeping look at Frank’s torso like he’s not sure where to start. He starts with short, dabbing movements on the uninjured skin, wiping away the dried blood with water and the paper towel, slowly making his way towards the bigger, scarier looking wounds, which really aren’t all that bad once they’ve been cleaned.

“Jesus, he really went for the left half of your body, huh?” Oli comments, gently applying huge globs of Neosporin to the considerably large expanse of skin.

All Frank can manage to do is nod. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s not entirely comfortable either. “I’m gonna have some wicked scars though.”

Oli smiles, “Damn right you are.”

Once Frank’s all cleaned up – and held together with butterfly tape in the areas that Oli decided absolutely required it, Kellin and Frank close themselves back off from the world and bury themselves back into their bed.

“You know this isn’t your fault, right?” Frank murmurs, nudging Kellin’s shoulder delicately with his elbow. Kellin doesn’t open his eyes, or move, but he responds.

“Kinda feels like it is though.”

“It’s not, okay? I’m the idiot that wanted gummy worms,” Frank insists.

“You are an idiot,” Kellin agrees, and Frank halfheartedly pouts.

“I won’t leave you when you don’t want me to again,” Frank promises, switching back to being serious effortlessly “Ever. I’ll be like a leech. Or a tick. Something small and parasitic that latches on to you and refuses to let go.”

“Do you also feed off of blood?” Kellin teases, which then reminds Frank of _Twilight_ , which _then_ reminds him that _Twilight_ is on Netflix, and then Kellin regrets ever having brought up vampires because he’s abruptly found himself being forced to watch the god awful abomination that is the entirety of the _Twilight_ movie.

But he revels in the warmth of the body next to him, tape and all, revels in his laugh and his stupid, unbelievably bad jokes, and secretly keeps close the happiness he’s actually feeling that Frank made it back to him alive.

He might not be uninjured, but he’s alive.

And that’s all that matters to Kellin. 


End file.
